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AN    OLD    CHESTER 
SECRET 


BOOKS  BY 
MARGARET  DELAND 

AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

THE  PROMISES  OP  ALICE 

THE  AWAKENING  OF  HELENA  RICHIE 

THE   RISING   TIDE 

AROUND   OLD   CHESTER 

THE   HANDS   OF  ESAU 

OLD   CHESTER   TALES 

AN  ENCORE 

DR.   LAVENDAR'S   PEOPLE 

PARTNERS 

THE      IRON   WOMAN 

THE   VOICE 

WHERE  THE  LABORERS  ARE  FEW 


HARPER   &   BROTHERS,    NEW  YORK 
ESTABLISHED    1817 


[See  p.  1 8 

WHAT!     INSULT  THIS  LADY  BY  ASKING  FOR  A  'PROMISE'?" 


AN 

OLD  CHESTER 
SECRET 

By 
MARGARET  DELAND 

Author  of 

"OLD  CHESTER  TALES"  "THE  IRON  WOMAN" 
"AROUND  OLD  CHESTER"  ETC. 


Illustrations  by 
F.  WALTER  TAYLOR 


HARPER  &.  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 


Copyright,   1920,  by  Harper  &    Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  October,  1920 

K-U 


To  Lorin— 

for  this  book,  too, 

is   his. 


Kennebunkport 
August  12, 1920 


423873 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"WHAT!  INSULT  THIS  LADY  BY  ASKING  FOR  A 

'PROMISE'?" Frontispiece 

"l     WELL     NOT     GIVE    ANY     OF    MY     APPLES      BACK. 

THEY'RE  MINE" Facing  p.  32 

"IF  I  SAW  HIM  ONCE  I  MIGHT  WANT  TO  SEE  HIM 

AGAIN" "  56 

"HEARTS  DON'T  ANSWER  WHEN  REASON  WHISTLES 

TO  THEM,"  HE  SAID "       104 


AN    OLD    CHESTER 
SECRET 


AN    OLD    CHESTER 
SECRET 

CHAPTER  i 

THERE  was  not  a  person  in  Old  Chester 
less  tainted  by  the  vulgarity  of  secretive- 
ness  than  Miss  Lydia  Sampson.  She  had  no 
more  reticence  than  sunshine  or  wind,  or 
any  other  elemental  thing.  How  much  of 
this  was  due  to  conditions  it  would  be  hard 
to  say;  certainly  there  was  no  " reticence " 
in  her  silence  as  to  her  neighbors'  affairs; 
she  simply  didn't  know  them!  Nobody  ever 
dreamed  of  confiding  in  Lydia  Sampson! 
And  she  could  not  be  reticent  about  her  own 
affairs  because  they  were  inherently  public. 
When  she  was  a  girl  she  broke  her  engage 
ment  to  Mr.  William  Rives  two  weeks  before 
the  day  fixed  for  the  wedding — and  the  invi 
tations  were  all  out !  So  of  course  everybody 
knew  that.  To  be  sure,  she  never  said  why 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

she  broke  it,  but  all  Old  Chester  knew  she 
hated  meanness,  and  felt  sure  that  she  had 
given  her  William  the  choice  of  being  gener 
ous  or  being  jilted — and  he  chose  the  latter. 
As  she  grew  older  the  joyous,  untidy  make 
shifts  of  a  poverty  which  was  always  hospit 
able  and  never  attempted  to  be  genteel, 
stared  you  in  the  face  the  minute  you  entered 
the  house ;  so  everybody  knew  she  was  poor. 
Years  later,  her  renewed  engagement  to  Mr. 
Rives,  and  his  flight  some  ten  minutes  before 
the  marriage  ceremony,  were  known  to  every 
body  because  we  had  all  been  invited  to  the 
wedding,  which  cost  (as  we  happened  to 
know,  because  we  had  presented  her  with 
just  exactly  that  amount)  a  hundred  dollars! 
At  the  sight  of  such  extravagance  the  thrifty 
William  turned  tail  and  ran,  and  we  gave 
thanks  and  said  he  was  a  scoundrel  to  make 
us  thankful,  though,  with  the  exception  of 
Doctor  Lavendar,  we  deplored  the  extrava 
gance  as  much  as  he  did!  As  for  Doctor 
Lavendar,  he  said  that  it  was  a  case  of  the 
grasshopper  and  the  ant;  "but  Lydia  is  a 
gambling  grasshopper,"  said  Doctor  Laven 
dar;  "she  took  tremendous  chances,  for  sup 
pose  the  party  hadn't  scared  William  off?" 
So,  obviously,  anything  which  was  per- 


AN  OLD  CHESTER   SECRET 

sonal  to  Miss  Lydia  was  public  property. 
She  simply  couldn't  be  secretive. 

Then,  suddenly,  and  in  the  open  (so  to 
speak)  of  her  innocent  candor,  a  Secret 
pounced  upon  her!  At  first  Old  Chester 
didn't  know  that  there  was  a  secret.  We 
merely  knew  that  on  a  rainy  December  day 
(this  was  about  eight  months  after  William 
had  turned  tail)  she  was  seen  to  get  into  the 
Mercer  stage,  carrying  a  carpetbag  in  one 
hand  and  a  bandbox  in  the  other.  This  was 
surprising  enough — for  why  should  Lydia 
Sampson  spend  her  money  on  going  to  Mer 
cer?  Yet  it  was  not  so  surprising  as  the  fact 
that  she  did  not  come  back  from  Mercer! 
And  even  that  was  a  comparative  surprise; 
the  superlative  astonishment  was  when  it 
became  known  that  she  had  left  her  door  key 
at  the  post  office  and  said  she  didn't  know 
when  she  would  return ! 

"Where  on  earth  has  she  gone?"  said  Old 
Chester.  But  only  Mrs.  Drayton  attempted 
to  reply: 

"It  certainly  looks  very  strange,"  said 
Mrs.  Drayton. 

It  was  with  the  turning  of  her  front-door 
key  that  Miss  Lydia  made  public  confession 
of  secrecy — although  she  had  resigned  her- 

3 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

self  to  it,  privately,  three  months  before. 
The  Secret  had  taken  possession  of  her  one 
hazy  September  evening,  as  she  was  sitting 
on  her  front  doorstep,  slapping  her  ankles 
when  a  mosquito  discovered  them,  and 
watching  the  dusk  falling  like  a  warm  veil 
across  the  hills.  The  air  was  full  of  the  scent 
of  evening  primroses,  and  Miss  Lydia,  look 
ing  at  a  clump  of  them  close  to  the  step, 
could  see  the  pointed  buds  begin  to  unfurl, 
then  hesitate,  then  tremble,  then  opening 
with  a  silken  burst  of  sound,  spill  their  per 
fume  into  the  twilight.  Except  for  the 
crickets,  it  was  very  still.  Once  in  a  while 
some  one  plodded  down  the  road,  and  once, 
when  it  was  quite  dark,  Mr.  Smith's  victoria 
rumbled  past,  paused  until  the  iron  gates  of 
his  driveway  swung  open,  then  rumbled  on 
to  his  big,  handsome  house.  He  was  one  of 
the  new  Smiths,  having  lived  in  Old  Chester 
hardly  twenty  years;  when  he  came  he 
brought  his  bride  with  him — a  Norton,  she 
was,  from  New  England.  A  nice  enough 
woman,  I  suppose,  but  not  a  Pennsylvanian. 
He  and  his  wife  built  this  house,  which  was 
so  imposing  that  for  some  time  they  were 
thought  of,  contemptuously,  as  the  rich 
Smiths.  But  by  and  by  Old  Chester  felt 

4 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

more  kindly  and  just  called  them  the  new 
Smiths.  Mrs.  Smith  died  when  their  only 
child,  Mary,  was  a  little  girl,  and  Mr.  Smith 
grew  gradually  into  our  esteem.  The  fact 
was,  he  was  so  good-looking  and  good- 
humored  and  high-tempered  (he  showed  his 
teeth  when  he  was  in  a  rage,  just  as  a  dog 
does)  Old  Chester  had  to  like  him — even 
though  it  wished  he  was  a  better  landlord  to 
Miss  Lydia,  to  whom  he  rented  a  crumbling 
little  house  just  outside  his  gates.  In  mat 
ters  of  business  Mr.  Smith  exacted  his  pound 
of  flesh — and  he  got  it!  In  Lydia's  case  it 
sometimes  really  did  represent  "flesh/'  for 
she  must  have  squeezed  her  rent  out  of  her 
food.  Yet  when,  after  her  frightful  ex 
travagance  in  giving  that  party  on  money  we 
had  given  her  for  the  rebuilding  of  her  chim 
ney,  Mr.  Smith  rebuilt  it  himself,  and  said 
she  was  a  damned  plucky  old  bird. — •"  Looks 
like  a  wet  hen/'  said  Mr.  Smith,  "but 
plucky!  plucky!"-— After  that,  our  liking 
for  him  became  quite  emphatic.  Not  that 
Old  Chester  liked  his  epithets  or  approved  of 
his  approval  of  Miss  Lydia's  behavior  (she 
bought  kid  gloves  for  her  party,  if  you  please ! 
and  a  blue-silk  dress;  and,  worse  than  all, 
presents  for  all  Old  Chester,  of  canary  birds 

5 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

and  pictures  and  what  not,  all  out  of  our 
hundred  dollars!) — we  did  not  like  the  laxity 
of  Mr.  Smith's  judgments  upon  the  Grass 
hopper's  conduct,  but  we  did  approve  of  his 
building  her  chimney,  because  it  saved  us 
from  putting  our  hands  in  our  own  pockets 
again. 

In  the  brown  dusk  of  the  September 
evening,  Miss  Lydia,  watching  her  landlord 
roll  past  in  his  carriage,  gave  him  a  friendly 
nod.  "He's  nice,"  she  said,  "and  so  good- 
looking!"  Her  eyes  followed  him  until,  in 
the  shadows  of  the  great  trees  of  the  drive 
way,  she  lost  sight  of  him.  Then  she  fell  to 
thinking  about  his  daughter,  a  careless  young 
creature,  handsome  and  selfish,  with  the 
Smith  high  color  and  black  eyes,  who  was 
engaged  to  be  married  to  another  handsome 
young  creature,  fatter  at  twenty-three  than 
is  safe  for  the  soul  of  a  young  man.  Miss 
Lydia  did  not  mind  Carl's  fat  because  she 
had  a  heart  for  lovers.  Apparently  her  own 
serial  and  unhappy  love  affair  had  but  in 
creased  her  interest  in  happier  love  affairs. 
To  be  sure,  Mary's  affair  had  had  the  zest 
of  a  little  bit  of  unhappiness — just  enough 
to  amuse  older  people.  The  boy  had  been 
ordered  off  by  his  firm  in  Mercer,  at  a  day's 

6 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

notice,  to  attend  to  some  business  in  Mexico, 
and  the  wedding,  which  was  to  have  been  in 
April,  had  to  be  postponed  for  six  months. 
Carl  had  been  terribly  down  in  the  mouth 
about  it,  and  Mary,  in  the  twenty-four  hours 
given  them  for  farewells,  had  cried  her  eyes 
out,  and  even,  at  the  last  minute,  just  before 
her  young  man  started  off,  implored  her 
father  to  let  them  get  married — which  plea, 
of  course,  he  laughed  at,  for  the  new  Mr. 
Smith  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  permit  his 
only  daughter  to  be  married  in  such  hole- 
and-corner  fashion!  As  it  happened,  Carl 
got  back,  quite  unexpectedly,  in  Septem 
ber — but  his  prospective  father-in-law  was 
obdurate. 

"It  won't  hurt  you  to  wait.  'Anticipation 
makes  a  blessing  dear!'  December  first  you 
can  have  her,"  said  the  new  Mr.  Smith, 
much  amused  by  the  young  people's  doleful 
sentimentality. 

Miss  Lydia,  now,  slapping  the  mosquitoes, 
and  thinking  about  the  approaching  "  bless 
ing,"  in  friendly  satisfaction  at  so  much 
young  happiness  being  next  door  to  her, 
hugged  herself  because  of  her  own  blessings. 

"I  don't  want  to  brag,"  she  thought,  "but 
certainly  I  am  the  luckiest  person!"  To 

2  7 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

count  up  her  various  pieces  of  luck  (starting 
with  the  experience  of  being  jilted) :  She  had 
a  nice  landlord  who  looked  like  Zeus,  with  his 
flashing  black  eyes  and  snow-white  hair  and 
beard.  And  she  had  so  many  friends !  And 
she  believed  she  could  manage  to  make  her 
black  alpaca  last  another  winter.  "It  is 
spotted,"  she  thought,  "but  what  real  dif 
ference  does  a  spot  make?  "  (Miss  Lydia  was 
one  of  those  rare  people  who  have  a  sense  of 
the  relative  values  of  life.)  "It's  a  warm 
skirt,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  weighing  the  im 
portance  of  that  spot  with  the  expense  of  a 
new  dress;  "and,  anyway,  whenever  I  look 
at  it,  it  just  makes  me  think  of  the  time 
I  spilled  the  cream  down  the  front  at  Harriet 
Hutchinson's.  What  a  good  time  I  had  at 
Harriet's!"  After  that  she  reflected  upon 
the  excellent  quality  of  her  blue  silk.  "I 
shall  probably  wear  it  only  once  or  twice  a 
year;  it  ought  to  last  me  my  lifetime,"  said 
Miss  Lydia.  ...  It  was  just  as  she  reached 
this  blessing  that,  somewhere  in  the  shadows, 
a  quivering  voice  called,  "Miss  Sampson?" 
and  out  of  the  darkness  of  the  Smith  drive 
way  came  a  girlish  figure.  The  iron  gates 
clanged  behind  her,  and  she  came  up  the 
little  brick  path  to  Miss  Lydia's  house  with 

8 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

a  sort  of  rush,  a  sort  of  fury;  her  voice  was 
demanding  and  frightened  and  angry  all 
together.  "Miss  Lydia!" 

Miss  Lydia,  startled  from  her  blessings, 
screwed  up  her  eyes,  then,  recognizing  her 
visitor,  exclaimed:  "Why,  my  dear!  What  is 
the  matter?"  And  again,  in  real  alarm, "  What 
is  it?"  For  Mary  Smith,  dropping  down  on 
the  step  beside  her,  was  trembling.  "My 
dear!"  Miss  Lydia  said,  in  consternation. 

"Miss  Sampson,  something — something 
has  happened.  A — a — an  accident.  I've 
come  to  you.  I  didn't  know  where  else  to 
go."  She  spoke  with  a  sort  of  sobbing 
breathlessness. 

"You  did  just  right,"  said  Miss  Lydia, 
"but  what—  " 

"You've  got  to  help  me!  There's  nobody 
else." 

' '  Of  course  I  will !     But  tell  me— ' ' 

"If  you  don't  help  me,  I'll  die,"  Mary 
Smith  said.  She  struck  her  soft  clenched 
fist  on  her  knee,  then  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands.  "  But  you  must  promise  me  you 
won't  tell?  Ever — ever!" 

"Of  course  I  won't." 

"And  you'll  help  me?  Oh,  say  you'll  help 
me!" 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Have  you  and  he  quarreled?"  said  Miss 
Lydia,  quickly.  Her  own  experience  flashed 
back  into  her  mind;  it  came  to  her  with  a 
little  flutter  of  pride  that  this  child — she  was 
really  only  a  child,  just  nineteen — who  was  to 
be  married  so  soon,  trusted  to  her  worldly 
wisdom  in  such  matters,  and  came  for  advice. 

"She  hasn't  any  mother/'  Miss  Lydia 
thought,  sympathetically.  "If  you've  quar 
reled,  you  and  he,"  she  said,  putting  her 
little  roughened  hand  on  Mary's  soft,  shak 
ing  fist,  "tell  him  you're  sorry.  Kiss  and 
make  up!"  Then  she  remembered  why  she 
and  her  William  had  not  kissed  and  made  up. 
"Unless"  —  she  hesitated  —  "he  has  done 
something  that  isn't  nice?"  ("Nice"  was 
Miss  Lydia's  idea  of  perfection.)  "But  I'm 
sure  he  hasn't!  He  seemed  to  me,  when  I 
saw  him,  a  very  pleasing  young  man.  So 
kiss  and  make  up!" 

The  younger  woman  was  not  listening. 
"I  had  to  wait  all  day  to  come  and  speak 
to  you.  I've  been  frantic— -frantic — waiting ! 
But  I  couldn't  have  anybody  see  me  come. 
They  would  have  wondered.  If  you  don't 
help  me — " 

"But  I  will,  Mary,  I  will!  Don't  you  love 
him?" 

10 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

11  Love  him?"  said  the  girl.  ''My  God!" 
Then,  in  a  whisper,  "If  I  only  hadn't  loved 
him — so  much.  ...  I  am  going  to  have  a 
baby." 

It  seemed  as  if  Miss  Lydia's  little  friendly 
chirpings  were  blown  from  her  lips  in  the 
gust  of  these  appalling  words. 

Mary  herself  was  suddenly  composed. 
"They  sent  him  off  to  Mexico  at  twenty- 
four  hours'  notice;  it  was  cruel — cruel,  to 
send  him  away!  and  he  came  to  say  good- 
by —  And  .  .  .  And  then  I  begged  and 
begged  father  to  let  us  get  married;  even 
the  very  morning  that  he  went  away,  I  said : 
'Let  us  get  married  to-day.  Please,  father, 
please! '  And  he  wouldn't,  he  wouldn't !  He 
wanted  a  big  wedding.  Oh,  what  did  I  care 
about  a  big  wedding!  Still — I  never  sup 
posed —  But  I  went  to  Mercer  yesterday 
and  saw  a  doctor,  and — and  found  out.  I 
couldn't  believe  it  was  true.  I  said  I'd  die 
if  it  was  true!  And  he  said  it  was.  ...  So 
then  I  rushed  to  Carl's  office.  ...  He  was 
frightened — for  me.  And  then  we  thought 
of  you.  And  all  day  to-day  I've  just  walked 
the  floor — waiting  to  get  down  here  to  see 
you.  I  couldn't  come  until  it  was  dark. 
Father  thinks  I'm  in  bed  with  a  headache. 

ii 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

I  told  the  servants  to  tell  him  I  had  a  head 
ache.  .  .  .  We've  got  to  manage  somehow 
to  make  him  let  us  get  married  right  off. 
But — but  even  that  won't  save  me.  It  will 
be  known.  It  will  be  known — in  January." 

Miss  Lydia  was  speechless. 

11  So  you've  got  to  help  me.  There's  no 
body  else  on  earth  who  can.  Oh,  you  must — 
you  must!" 

"But  what  can  I  do?"  Miss  Lydia  gasped. 

"  Carl  and  I  will  go  away  somewhere.  Out 
West  where  nobody  knows  us.  And  then 
you'll  come.  And  you'll  take — It.  You'll 
take  care  of  it.  And  you  can  have  all  the 
money  you  want." 

"My  dear,"  Miss  Lydia  said,  trembling, 
"this  is  very,  very  dreadful,  but  I — " 

The  girl  burst  into  rending  crying.  ' '  Don't 
you — suppose  /  know  that  it's — it's — it's 
dreadful?" 

"But  I  don't  see  how  I  can  possibly — " 

"If  you  won't  help  me,  I'll  go  right  down 
to  the  river.  Oh,  Miss  Lydia,  help  me! 
Please,  please  help  me!" 

"Butit'simpos— " 

Mary  stopped  crying.  "It  isn't.  It's 
perfectly  possible!  You'll  simply  go  away 
to  visit  some  friends — " 

12 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"I  haven't  any  friends,  except  in  Old 
Chester—  " 

"  And  when  you  come  back  you'll  bring — 
//  with  you.  And  you'll  say  you've  adopted 
it.  You'll  say  it's  the  child  of  a  friend." 

Miss  Lydia  was  silent. 

"If  you  won't  help  me,"  Mary  burst  out, 
«  j'll »> 

"Does  anybody  know?"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"No." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!  You  must  tell 
your  father." 

"My  father?11     She  laughed  with  terror. 

Then  Miss  Lydia  Sampson  did  an  impos 
sible  thing  —  judging  from  Old  Chester's 
knowledge  of  her  character.  She  said,  "He's 
got  to  know  or  I  won't  help  you." 

Mary's  recoil  showed  how  completely,  poor 
child!  she  had  always  had  her  own  way;  to 
be  crossed  now  by  this  timid  old  maid  was 
like  going  head-on  into  a  gray  mist  and  find 
ing  it  a  stone  wall.  There  was  a  tingling 
silence.  "Then  I'll  kill  myself,"  she  said. 

Miss  Lydia  gripped  her  small,  work-worn 
hands  together,  but  said  nothing. 

"Oh,  please  help  me!"  Mary  said. 

"I  will — if  you'll  tell  your  father  or  Doctor 
Lavendar.  I  don't  care  which." 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"  Neither !"  said  the  girl.  She  got  on  her 
feet  and  stood  looking  down  at  little  shabby 
Miss  Lydia  sitting  on  the  step  with  her  black 
f rizette  tumbling  forward  over  one  frightened 
blue  eye.  Then  she  covered  her  face  with 
those  soft,  trembling  hands,  all  dimpled 
across  the  knuckles. 

"  Carl  wanted  to  tell.  He  said,  '  Let's  tell 
people  I  was  a  scoundrel — and  stand  up  to  it.' 
And  I  said,  '  Carl,  I'll  die  first ! '  And  I  will, 
Miss  Lydia.  I'll  die  rather  than  have  it 
known.  Nobody  must  know — ever." 

Miss  Lydia  shook  her  head.  "  Somebody 
besides  me  must  know."  Then  very  faintly 
she  said,  "I'll  tell  your  father."  There  was 
panic  in  her  voice,  but  Mary's  voice,  from 
behind  the  dimpled  hands,  was  shrill  with 
panic : 

"You  mustn't!  Oh,  you  promised  not  to 
tell!" 

Miss  Lydia  went  on,  quietly,  "He  and  I 
will  decide  what  to  do." 

" No,  no ! "  Mary  said.     "He'll  kill  Carl ! " 

"I  shouldn't  think  Carl  would  mind,"  said 
Miss  Lydia. 

The  girl  dropped  down  again  on  the  step. 
"Oh,  what  shall  I  do— what  shall  I  do— 
what  shall  I  do?  He'll  hate  me." 

14 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

" He'll  be  very,  very  unhappy/'  said  Miss 
Lydia;  "but  he'll  know  what  must  be  done. 
I  don't.  And  he'll  forgive  you." 

"He  won't  forgive  Carl!  Father  never 
forgives.  He  says  so!  And  if  he  won't  for 
give  Carl  he  mustn't  forgive  me!"  She  hid 
her  face. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  she  said, 
in  a  whisper,  "When  will  you  .  .  .  tell  him?" 

"To-night." 

Again  she  cringed  away.  "Not  to-night! 
Please  not  to-night.  Oh,  you  promised  you 
wouldn't  tell !  I  can't  bear —  Let  me  think. 
I'll  write  to  Carl.  No!  No!  Father  mustn't 
know!" 

' '  Listen , ' '  said  Lydia  Sampson ;  ' '  you  must 
get  married  right  off.  You  can't  wait  until 
December.  That's  settled.  But  your  father 
must  manage  it  so  that  nobody  will  suspect 
— anything.  Understand  ? ' ' 

"I  mean  to  do  that,  anyway,  but — " 

"Unless  you  tell  a  great  many  small 
stories,"  said  little,  truthful  Miss  Lydia, 
"you  can't  manage  it;  but  your  father  will 
just  tell  one  big  story,  about  business  or  some 
thing.  Gentlemen  can  always  tell  stories 
about  business,  and  you  can't  find  'em  out. 
The  way  we  do  about  headaches.  Mr. 

is 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Smith  will  say  business  makes  it  necessary 
for  him  to  hurry  the  wedding  up  so  he  can  go 
away  to — any  place.  See?" 

Mary  saw,  but  she  shook  her  head. 
"He'll  kill  Carl,"  she  said  again. 

"No,  he  won't,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  "be 
cause  then  everything  would  come  out;  and, 
besides,  he'd  get  hanged." 

Again  there  was  a  long  silence ;  then  Mary 
said,  suddenly,  violently: 

"Well— tell  Urn:1 

"Oh,  my!"  said  Miss  Lydia,  "my!  my!" 

But  she  got  up,  took  the  child's  soft, 
shrinking  hand,  and  together  in  the  hazy 
silence  of  the  summer  night  they  walked — • 
Miss  Lydia  hurrying  forward,  Mary  holding 
back — between  the  iron  gates  and  up  the 
driveway  to  the  great  house. 

Talk  about  facing  the  cannon's  mouth! 
When  Miss  Sampson  came  into  the  new  Mr. 
Smith's  library  he  was  sitting  in  a  circle  of 
lamplight  at  his  big  table,  writing  and  smok 
ing.  He  looked  up  at  her  with  a  resigned 
shrug.  "Wants  something  done  to  her  con 
founded  house!"  he  thought.  But  he  put 
down  his  cigar,  got  on  his  feet,  and  said,  in 
his  genial,  wealthy  way: 

"Well,  my  good  neighbor!  How  are  you?" 
16 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Miss  Lydia  could  only  gasp,  "  Mr.  Smith— 
(there  was  a  faint  movement  outside  the 
library  door  and  she  knew  Mary  was  listen 
ing).    "Mr.  Smith—  " 

"Sit  down,  sit  down!"  he  said.  "I  am 
afraid  you  are  troubled  about  something? " 

She  sat  down  on  the  extreme  edge  of  a 
chair,  and  he  stood  in  front  of  her,  stroking 
his  white  beard  and  looking  at  her,  amused 
and  bored,  and  very  rich — but  not  unkind. 

"Mr.  Smith—"  she  faltered.  She  swal 
lowed  two  or  three  times,  and  squeezed  her 
hands  together;  then,  brokenly,  but  with 
almost  no  circumlocution,  she  told  him.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  terrible  scene  in  that  hand 
some,  shadowy,  lamplit  room.  Miss  Lydia 
emerged  from  it  white  and  trembling;  she 
fairly  ran  back  to  her  own  gate,  stumbled  up 
the  mossy  brick  path  to  her  front  door,  burst 
into  her  unlighted  house,  then  locked  the 
door  and  bolted  it,  and  fell  in  a  small,  shak 
ing  heap  against  it,  as  if  it  barred  out  the  loud 
anger  and  shame  which  she  had  left  behind 
her  in  the  great  house  among  the  trees. 

While  Mary  had  crouched  in  the  hall,  her 
ear  against  the  keyhole,  Miss  Lydia  Sampson 
had  held  that  blazing-eyed  old  man  to  com 
mon  sense.  No,  he  must  not  carry  the  girl 

17 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

to  Mercer  the  next  day,  and  take  the  hound 
by  the  throat,  and  marry  them  out  of  hand. 
No,  he  must  not  summon  the  scoundrel  to 
Old  Chester  and  send  for  Doctor  Lavendar. 
No,  he  must  not  have  a  private  wedding.  .  .  . 
"They  must  be  married  in  church  and  have 
white  ribbons  up  the  aisle, "  gasped  Miss 
Lydia,  "and — and  rice.  Don't  you  under 
stand?  And  it  isn't  nice,  Mr.  Smith,  to  use 
such  language  before  ladies." 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  when  Miss  Lydia,  in 
her  dark  entry,  went  over  in  her  own  mind 
the  "language"  which  had  been  used;  all 
he  had  vowed  he  would  do,  and  all  she  had 
declared  he  should  not  do,  and  all  Mary 
(called  in  from  the  hall)  had  retorted  as  to 
the  cruel  things  that  had  been  done  to  her 
and  Carl  "which  had  just  driven  them  wild! " 
And  then  the  curious  rage  with  which  Mr. 
Smith  had  turned  upon  his  daughter  when 
she  cried  out,  "Father,  make  her  promise 
not  to  tell!"  At  that  the  new  Mr.  Smith's 
anger  touched  a  really  noble  note: 

"What!  Insult  this  lady  by  asking  for  a 
'promise'?  Good  God!  madam,"  he  said, 
turning  to  Miss  Sampson,  "is  this  girl  mine, 
to  offer  such  an  affront  to  a  friend?  " 

At  which  Miss  Lydia  felt,  just  for  an  in- 
18 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

slant,  that  he  was  nice.  But  the  next  mo 
ment  the  thought  of  his  fury  at  Mary  made 
her  feel  sick.  Remembering  it  now,  she  said 
to  herself,  "It  was  awful  in  him  to  show  his 
teeth  that  way,  and  to  call  Mary — that'1 
And  again,  "It  wasn't  gentlemanly  in  him 
to  use  an  indelicate  word  about  the  baby." 
Miss  Lydia's  mind  refused  to  repeat  two  of 
the  new  Mr.  Smith's  words.  The  dreadful- 
ness  of  them  made  her  forget  his  momentary 
chivalry  for  her.  "Mary  is  only  a  child," 
she  said  to  herself;  "and  as  for  the  baby,  I'll 
take  care  of  the  little  thing;  I  won't  let  it 
know  that  its  own  grandfather  called  it — 
No,  it  wasn't  nice  in  Mr.  Smith  to  say  such 
words  before  a  young  lady  like  Mary,  or 
before  me,  either,  though  I'm  a  good  deal 
older  than  Mary.  I'm  glad  I  told  him  so!" 
(Miss  Lydia  telling  Zeus  he  wasn't  "nice"!) 
This  September  midnight  was  the  first  Se 
cret  which  pounced  upon  Miss  Lydia.  The 
next  was  the  new  Mr.  Smith's  short  and 
terrible  interview  with  his  prospective  son- 
in-law:  "You  are  never  to  set  foot  in  this 
town."  And  then  his  order  to  his  daughter: 
"Nor  you,  either,  unless  you  come  without 
that  man.  And  there  are  to  be  no  letters 
to  or  from  Miss  Sampson,  understand  that! 

19 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

I  am  not  going  to  have  people  putting  two 
and  two  together." 

Certainly  no  such  mental  arithmetic  took 
place  at  the  very  gay  Smith  wedding  in  the  sec 
ond  week  in  September— a  wedding  with  white 
ribbons  up  the  aisle !  Yes,  and  a  reception  at 
the  big  house !  and  rice !  and  old  slippers ! 

But  when  the  gayety  was  over,  and  the 
bride  and  groom  drove  off  in  great  state,  Miss 
Lydia  waved  to  them  from  her  front  door, 
and  then  stood  looking  after  the  carriage 
with  strange  pitifulness  in  her  face.  How 
much  they  had  missed,  these  two  who,  in 
stead  of  the  joy  and  wonder  and  mystery  of 
going  away  together  into  their  new  world, 
were  driving  off,  scarcely  speaking  to  each 
other,  tasting  on  their  young  lips /the  stale 
bitterness  of  stolen  fruit!  i  After  the  carriage 
was  out  of  sight  Miss  Lydia  walked  down  the 
road  to  the  rectory,  carrying,  as  was  the 
habit  of  her  exasperatingly  generous  poverty 
when  calling  on  her  friends,  a  present,  a 
tumbler  of  currant  jelly  for  Doctor  Lavendar. 
But  when  the  old  man  remonstrated,  she  did 
not,  as  usual,  begin  to  excuse  herself.  She 
only  said,  point-blank: 

"  Doctor  Lavendar,  is  it  ever  right  to  tell 
lies  to  save  other  people  ?" 

20 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Doctor  Lavendar,  jingling  the  happy  bride 
groom's  two  gold  pieces  in  his  pocket,  said: 
"What?  What?" 

"Not  to  save  yourself,"  said  Miss  Lydia; 
"I  know  you  can't  tell  lies  to  save  your 
self." 

Doctor  Lavendar  stopped  jingling  his  gold 
pieces  and  frowned;  then  he  said:  "Miss 
Lydia,  the  truth  about  ourselves  is  the  only 
safe  way  to  live.  If  other  folks  want  to  be 
safe  let  them  tell  their  own  truths.  It 
doesn't  often  help  them  for  us  to  do  it  for 
'em.  My  own  principle  has  been  not  to  tell 
a  lie  about  other  folks'  affairs,  but  to  reserve 
the  truth.  Understand?" 

"I  think  I  do,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  faintly, 
"but  it's  difficult." 

Doctor  Lavendar  looked  at  his  two  gold 
pieces  thoughtfully.  "Lydia,"  he  said,  "it's 
like  walking  on  a  tight  rope."  Then  he 
chuckled,  dismissed  the  subject,  and  spread 
out  his  eagles  on  the  table.  "Look  at  'em! 
Aren't  they  pretty?  You  see  how  glad 
Mary's  young  man  was  to  get  her.  I'll  go 
halves  with  you!" 

Her  recoil  as  he  handed  her  one  of  the 
gold  pieces  made  him  give  her  a  keen  look; 
but  all  she  said  was:  "Oh  no!  I  wouldn't 

21 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

touch  it!"  Then  she  seemed  to  get  herself 
together:  "I  don't  need  it,  thank  you,  sir," 
she  said. 

When  she  went  away  Doctor  Lavendar, 
looking  after  her,  thrust  out  his  lower  lip. 
"Lydia  not  'need'  an  eagle?"  he  said. 
"How  long  since?"  And  after  a  while  he 
added,  "Now,  what  on  earth — ?" 

Old  Chester,  too,  said,  "  What  on  earth—?" 
when,  in  December,  Miss  Lydia  turned  the 
key  in  her  front  door  and,  with  her  carpet 
bag  and  bandbox,  took  the  morning  stage 
for  Mercer. 

And  we  said  it  again,  a  few  weeks  later, 
when  Mrs.  Barkley  received  a  letter  in 
which  Miss  Lydia  said  she  had  been  visiting 
friends  in  Indiana  and  had  been  asked  by 
them  to  take  care  of  a  beautiful  baby  boy, 
and  she  was  bringing  him  home  with  her, 
and  she  hoped  Mrs.  Barkley  would  give  her 
some  advice  about  taking  care  of  babies,  for 
she  was  afraid  she  didn't  know  much — 
("'Much'?"  Mrs.  Barkley  snorted.  "She 
knows  as  much  about  babies  as  a  wildcat 
knows  about  tatting!") — and  she  was,  as 
ever,  Mrs.  Barkley's  affectionate  Lyddy. 

The  effect  of  this  letter  upon  Old  Ches 
ter  can  be  imagined.  Mrs.  Drayton  said, 

22 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"What  I  would  like  to  know  is,  whose  baby 
is  it?11 

Mrs.  Barkley  said  in  a  deep  bass:  "Where 
will  Lyddy  get  the  money  to  take  care  of  it? 
As  for  advising  her,  I  advise  her  to  leave 
it  on  the  doorstep  of  its  blood  relations!" 

Doctor  Lavendar  said:  "Ho,  hum!  Do 
you  remember  what  the  new  Mr.  Smith  said 
about  her  when  she  gave  her  party?  Well, 
I  agree  with  him!"  Which  (if  you  recall 
Mr.  Smith's  exact  words)  was  really  a 
shocking  thing  for  a  minister  of  the  gospel 
to  say! 

Mrs.  William  King  said,  firmly,  that  she 
called  it  murder,  to  intrust  a  child  to  Miss 
Lydia  Sampson.  "She'll  hold  it  upside 
down  and  never  kno^  the  difference,"  said 
Mrs.  King;  and  then,  like  everybody  else, 
she  asked  Mrs.  Drayton's  question  "Whose 
baby  is  it?" 

There  were  many  answers,  mostly  to  the 
effect  that  Lydia  was  so  scatterbrained — as 
witness  her  "party,"  and  her  blue-silk  dress, 
and  her  broken  engagements,  etc.,  etc.,  that 
she  was  perfectly  capable  of  letting  anybody 
shove  a  foundling  into  her  arms!  Mrs. 
Drayton's  own  answer  to  her  question  was 
that  the  whole  thing  looked  queer — "not 

3  23 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

that  I  would  imply  anything  against  poor 
Lydia's  character,  but  it  looks  queer;  and  if 
you  count  back — " 

Miss  Lydia's  reply — for  of  course  the  ques 
tion  was  asked  her  as  soon  as  she  and  the 
baby,  and  the  bandbox  and  the  carpetbag 
got  off  the  stage  one  March  afternoon — Miss 
Lydia's  answer  was  brief: 

"A  friend's." 

She  did  emerge  from  her  secrecy  far 
enough  to  say  to  Mrs.  Barkley  that  she  was 
to  receive  "an  honorarium"  for  the  support 
of  the  little  darling.  "Of  course  I  won't 
spend  a  cent  of  it  on  myself,"  she  added, 
simply. 

"Is  it  a  child  of  shame?"  said  Mrs.  Bark- 
ley,  sternly. 

Miss  Lydia's  shocked  face  and  upraised, 
protesting  hands,  answered  her:  "  My  baby's 
parents  were  married  persons !  After  they — 
passed  on,  a  friend  of  theirs  intrusted  the 
child  to  me." 

"When  did  they  die?" 

Miss  Lydia  reflected.  "I  didn't  ask  the 
date." 

"Well,  considering  the  child's  age,  the 
mother's  death  couldn't  have  been  very  long 
ago,"  Mrs.  Barkley  said,  dryly. 

24 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

And  Miss  Lydia  said,  in  a  surprised  way, 
as  if  it  had  just  occurred  to  her:  "Why,  no, 
of  course  not!  It  was  an  accident,"  she 
added. 

" For  the  mother?" 

"For  both  parents,"  said  Miss  Sampson, 
firmly.  And  that  was  all  Old  Chester  got 
out  of  her. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Drayton,  "/am  always 
charitable,  but  uncharitable  persons  might 
wonder.  ...  It  was  last  May,  you  know, 
that  that  Rives  man  deserted  her  at  the 
altar." 

"Only  fool  persons  would  wonder  any 
thing  like  that  about  Lydia  Sampson!"  said 
Mrs.  Barkley,  fiercely.  .  .  .  But  even  in  Old 
Chester  there  were  two  or  three  fools,  so 
for  their  especial  benefit  Mrs.  Barkley,  who 
had  her  own  views  about  Miss  Sampson's 
wisdom  in  undertaking  the  care  of  a  baby, 
but  who  would  not  let  that  Drayton  female 
speak  against  her,  spread  abroad  the  in 
formation  that  Miss  Lydia' s  baby's  parents, 
who  had  lived  out  West,  had  both  been 
killed  at  the  same  time  in  an  accident. 

"What  kind?" 

"Carriage,  I  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Barkley; 
"but  they  left  sufficient  money  to  support 

25 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

the  child.  So,"  she  added,  "Old  Chester 
need  have  no  further  anxiety  about  Lydia's 
poverty.  Their  names?  Oh— Smith." 

She  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  tell  Lydia 
she  had  named  the  baby,  and  though 
Miss  Lydia  gave  a  little  start— for  she  had 
thought  of  some  more  distinguished  name 
for  her  charge— " Smith,"  and  the  Western 
parents  and  the  carriage  accident  passed  into 
history. 


CHAPTER  II 

DURING  the  first  year  that  the  " Smith " 
baby  lived  outside  the  brick  wall  of  Mr. 
Smith's  place,  the  iron  gates  of  the  driveway 
were  not  opened,  because  business  obliged  Mr. 
Smith  to  be  in  Europe.  (Oh,  said  Old  Chester, 
so  that  was  why  Mary's  wedding  had  to  be 
hurried  up?)  When  he  returned  to  his  native 
land  he  never,  as  he  drove  past,  looked  at  the 
youngster  playing  in  Miss  Lydia's  dooryard. 
Then  once  Johnny  (he  was  three  years  old) 
ran  after  his  ball  almost  under  the  feet  of 
the  Smith  horses,  and  as  he  was  pulled  from 
between  the  wheels  his  grandfather  couldn't 
help  seeing  him. 

" Don't  do  that  tomfool  thing  again!"  the 
old  man  shouted,  and  Johnny,  clasping  his 
recovered  ball,  grinned  at  him. 

"He  sinks  Johnny  T aid,"  the  little  fellow 
told  Miss  Lydia. 

A  month  or  two  afterward  Johnny  threw 
a  stone  at  the  victoria  and  involuntarily  Mr. 
Smith  glanced  in  the  direction  from  which 

27 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

it  came.  But,  of  course,  human  nature  be 
ing  like  story  books,  he  did  finally  notice  his 
grandson.  At  intervals  he  spoke  to  Miss 
Lydia,  and  when  Johnny  was  six  years  old 
he  even  stopped  one  day  long  enough  to  give 
the  child  a  quarter.  Mr.  Smith  had  aged 
very  much  after  his  daughter's  marriage — 
and  no  wonder,  Old  Chester  said,  for  he  must 
be  lonely  in  that  big  house,  and  Mary  never 
coming  to  see  him!  Such  behavior  on  the 
part  of  a  daughter  puzzled  Old  Chester. 
We  couldn't  understand  it — unless  it  was 
that  Mr.  Smith  didn't  get  along  with  his 
son-in-law?  And  Mary,  of  course,  didn't 
visit  her  father  because  a  dutiful  wife  always 
agrees  with  her  husband!  A  sentiment 
which  places  Old  Chester  chronologically. 

The  day  that  Mr.  Smith  bestowed  the 
quarter  upon  his  grandson  he  spoke  of  his 
daughter's  "  dutif ulness "  to  Miss  Lydia. 
Driving  toward  his  house,  he  overtook  two 
trudging  figures,  passed  them  by  a  rod  or 
two,  then  called  to  the  coachman  to  stop. 
"I'll  walk,"  he  said,  briefly,  and  waited  in 
the  dust  of  his  receding  carriage  until  Miss 
Lydia  and  her  boy  reached  him.  Johnny 
was  trudging  along,  pulling  his  express  wagon, 
which  was  full  of  apples  picked  up  on  the 

28 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

path  below  an  apple  tree  that  leaned  over 
the  girdling  wall  of  the  Smith  place. 

As  Miss  Lydia  approached  her  landlord 
her  heart  came  up  in  her  throat;  it  always 
did  when  she  saw  him,  because  she  remem 
bered  the  Olympian  thunders  he  had  loosed 
on  that  awful  night  six  years  ago. 

"  How  do?  "  said  Mr.  Smith.  His  dark  eyes 
under  bristling,  snow-white  eyebrows  blazed 
at  her.  He  didn't  notice  the  little  boy. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Miss  Lydia,  in  a 
small  voice.  She  looked  tousled  and  breath 
less  and  rather  spotted,  and  so  little  that  Mr. 
Smith  must  have  felt  he  could  blow  her  away 
if  he  wanted  to.  Apparently  he  didn't  want 
to.  He  only  said: 

"You  —  ah,  never  hear  from  —  ah,  my 
daughter,  I  suppose,  Miss  Sampson?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"She  doesn't  care  to  visit  me  without  her 
husband,  and  I  won't  have  him  under  my 
roof!"  His  lip  lifted  for  an  instant  and 
showed  his  teeth.  "I  see  her  when  I  go  to 
Philadelphia,  and  she  writes  me  duty  letters 
occasionally,  but  she  never  mentions — " 

"Doesn't  she?"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"I  don't,  either.  But  I  just  want  to  say 
that  if  you  ever  need  any — ah,  extra — " 

29 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"I  don't,  thank  you." 

Then,  reluctantly,  the  flashing  black  eyes 
looked  down  at  Johnny.  "  Doesn't  resemble 
— anybody ?  Well,  young  man ! ' ' 

"Say,  'How  do  you  do?'  Johnny,"  Miss 
Lydia  commanded,  faintly. 

"How  do?"  Johnny  said,  impatiently. 
He  was  looking  over  his  apples  and,  discov 
ering  some  bruised  ones,  frowned  and  threw 
them  away. 

"Where  did  you  get  your  apples?"  said 
Mr.  Smith. 

"On  the  road,"  said  Johnny;  "they  ain't 
yours  when  they  drop  on  the  road." 

"Say  'aren't,'  Johnny,"  said  Miss  Lydia. 
"It  isn't  nice  to  say  'ain't.'" 

"Why  aren't  they  mine?  "  said  the  old  man. 
He  was  towering  up  above  the  two  little  fig 
ures,  his  feet  wide  apart,  his  hands  behind  him, 
switching  his  cane  back  and  forth  like  a  tail. 

"  'Cause  I've  got  'em,"  Johnny  explained, 
briefly. 

"  Ha !  The  nine-tenths !  You'll  be  a  law 
yer,  sir!"  his  grandfather  said.  "Suppose  I 
say,  '  Give  me  some '  ? " 

"I  won't,"  said  Johnny. 

"Oh,  you  won't,  eh?  You'll  be  a  politi 
cian!"  Mr.  Smith  said. 

30 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"It  isn't  right  to  say,  'I  won't,'"  Miss 
Lydia  corrected  Johnny,  panting. 

Mr.  Smith  did  not  notice  her  nervousness ; 
the  boy's  attitude,  legs  wide  apart,  hands 
behind  him,  clutching  the  tongue  of  his  ex 
press  wagon,  held  his  eye.  "He's  like  me!" 
he  thought,  with  a  thrill. 

"Isn't  it  right  to  say,  'I  won't  say  I 
won't'?"  Johnny  countered. 

"Jesuit!"  Mr.  Smith  said,  chuckling.  "The 
church  is  the  place  for  him,  Miss  Sampson." 

"Anyway,"  Johnny  said,  crossly,  "I  will 
not  give  any  of  my  apples  back.  They're 


mine." 


"How  do  you  make  that  out?"  said  Mr. 
Smith.  (And  in  an  undertone  to  Miss 
Lydia,  "No  fool,  eh?") 

"Because  I  picked  'em  up,"  said  Johnny. 

"Well,  here's  a  quarter,"  said  his  grand 
father,  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket. 

Johnny  took  the  coin  with  an  air  of  satis 
faction,  but  even  as  he  slid  it  into  his  pocket 
he  took  it  out  again. 

"Looky  here,"  he  said.  "I  thought  I'd 
buy  a  pony  with  it,  but  I  don't  mind  paying 
you  for  your  apples — "  And  he  held  out 
the  quarter. 

Mr.  Smith  laughed  as  he  had  not  laughed 
31 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

for  a  long  time.  "You're  a  judge  of  horse 
flesh!"  he  said,  and  walked  off,  switching  his 
tail  behind  him. 

The  story-book  plot  should  begin  here — the 
rich  grandfather  meets  the  unacknowledged 
grandchild,  loves  him,  and  makes  him  his 
heir — and,  of  course,  incidentally,  showers 
his  largess  upon  the  poor  and  virtuous  lady 
who  has  cared  for  the  little  foundling;  so 
everybody  lives  happy  and  dies  wealthy. 
This  intelligent  arrangement  of  fiction  might 
have  been  carried  out  if  only  Miss  Lydia 
had  behaved  differently!  But  about  two 
years  later  her  behavior — 

"She's  put  a  spoke  in  my  wheel!"  Mr. 
Smith  told  himself,  blankly.  It  was  when 
Johnny  was  eight  that  the  spoke  blocked  the 
grandfather's  progress.  ...  He  had  gradu 
ally  grown  to  know  the  boy  very  well,  and, 
after  much  backing  and  filling  in  his  own 
mind,  decided  to  adopt  him.  He  did  not 
reach  this  decision  easily,  for  there  were  risks 
in  such  an  arrangement ;  resemblances  might 
develop,  and  people  might  put  two  and  two 
together!  However,  each  time  he  decided 
that  the  risk  was  too  great,  a  glimpse  of 
Johnny — stealing  a  ride  by  hanging  on  be 
hind  his  grandfather's  victoria,  or  going  in 

32 


I    WILL    NOT    GIVE    ANY    OF    MY    APPLES   BACK.       THEY  RE    MINE 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

swimming  in  deeper  water  than  some  of  the 
older  boys  were  willing  to  essay,  or,  once, 
blacking  another  fellow's  eye — such  a  glimpse 
of  his  own  flesh  and  blood  gave  him  courage. 
Courage  gained  the  day  when  his  grandson 
had  scarlet  fever  and  William  King,  meeting 
him  after  a  call  at  Miss  Lydia's,  happened  to 
say  that  Johnny  was  a  pretty  sick  child. 
The  new  Mr.  Smith  felt  his  heart  under  his 
spreading  white  beard  contract  sharply. 

"Sick!  Very  sick?  Good  God!  the  wet 
hen  won't  know  how  to  take  care  of  him!" 
His  alarm  was  so  obvious  that  Doctor  King 
looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  You  are  fond  of  the  little  fellow?" 

"Oh,  I  see  him  playing  around  my  gate/* 
Mr.  Smith  said,  and  walked  off  quickly,  lest 
he  should  find  himself  urging  more  advice,  or 
a  nurse,  or  what  not.  "King  would  wonder 
what  earthly  difference  it  could  make  to 
me! "  he  said  to  himself,  in  a  panic  of  secrecy. 
It  made  enough  difference  to  cause  him  to 
write  to  his  daughter:  "I  hear  the  child  is 
very  sick  and  may  die.  Congratulations  to 
Robertson." 

Mary,  reading  the  cruel  words  and  never 
guessing  the  anxiety  which  had  dictated 
them,  grew  white  with  anger.  "I  will  never 

33 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

forgive  father!"  she  said  to  herself,  and  went 
over  to  her  husband  and  put  her  soft  hands 
on  his  shoulders  and  kissed  him. 

"Carl,"  she  said,  "the— the  little  boy  is 
sick";  his  questioning  look  made  her  add, 
"Oh,  he'll  get  well"— but  she  must  have  felt 
some  unspoken  recoil  in  her  husband,  for  she 
cried  out,  in  quick  denial,  "Of  course  I  don't 
want  anything  to — to  happen  to  him!" 

They  did  not  speak  of  Johnny's  illness  for 
two  or  three  days;  then  Mary  said,  "If  any 
thing  had  happened,  we  should  have  heard  by 
this  time?" 

And  Carl  said,  "Oh,  of  course." 

When  Johnny  was  well  again  his  grand 
father's  fear  that  Doctor  King  might  "won 
der,"  ebbed.  "It's  safe  enough  to  take  him," 
he  said  to  himself;  "he  doesn't  look  like  any 
body.  And  if  I  adopt  him  I  can  see  that  he's 
properly  educated — and  it  will  scare  Rob 
ertson  to  death!"  he  added,  viciously,  and 
showed  his  teeth.  He  even  discussed  adopt 
ing  his  grandchild  with  Doctor  Lavendar: 

"Mary  hasn't  done  her  duty,"  he  said. 
"I've  no  grandchildren!  I've  a  great  mind 
to  adopt  some  youngster.  I'm  fond  of 
children." 

"Good  idea,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar. 

34 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"I've  taken  a  fancy  to  that  little  rascal 
who  lives  just  at  my  gate.  Bright  young 
ster.  Not  a  cowardly  streak  in  him !  Quick 
tempered,  I'm  afraid.  But  /  never  blame 
anybody  for  that!  I've  thought,  once  or 
twice,  that  I'd  adopt  him." 

"And  Miss  Lydia,  too?"  Doctor  Lavendar 
inquired,  mildly. 

"Oh,  I  should  look  after  her,  of  course," 
said  Mr.  Smith.  But  it  was  still  another  six 
months  before  he  really  made  up  his  mind. 
"I'll  do  it!"  he  said  to  himself.  "But  I 
suppose,"  he  reflected,  "I  ought  to  tell 
Mary — and  the  skunk." 

He  went  on  to  Philadelphia  for  the  purpose 
of  telling  Mary,  but  he  did  it  when  Carl  was 
not  present. 

Mary  blenched.  "Father,  don't!  People 
might—" 

"Damn  people!  I  like  the  boy.  You're 
a  coward,  Mary,  and  so  is — Robertson." 

"No!     He  isn't!     Carl  isn't.     I  am." 

"I  won't  compromise  you,"  he  ended, 
contemptuously.  "Tell  Robertson  I  mean 
to  do  it.  If  he  has  anything  to  say  he  can 
say  it  in  a  letter."  Then  he  kissed  her  per 
functorily  and  said,  "Goo'-by — goo'-by," 
and  took  the  night  train  for  Mercer. 

35 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

He  lost  no  time  when  he  got  back  to  Old 
Chester  in  putting  his  plan  through.  The 
very  next  afternoon,  knowing  that  Johnny 
would  be  at  Doctor  Lavendar's  Collect 
Class,  he  called  on  Miss  Lydia.  Miss  Samp 
son's  little  house  was  more  comfortable  than 
it  used  to  be;  the  quarterly  check  which 
came  from  "some  one"  patched  up  leaky 
roofs,  and  bought  a  new  carpet,  and  did  one 
or  two  other  things;  but  it  did  not  procure 
any  luxuries,  either  for  Johnny  or  for  herself, 
and  it  never  made  Miss  Lydia  look  like  any 
thing  but  a  small,  bedraggled  bird;  her  black 
frizette  still  got  crooked  and  dipped  over  one 
soft  blue  eye,  and  she  was  generally  shabby — 
except  on  the  rare  occasions  when  she  wore 
the  blue  silk — and  her  parlor  always  looked 
as  if  a  wind  had  blown  through  it.  "I 
wouldn't  touch  their  money  for  myself!"  she 
used  to  think,  and  saved  every  cent  to  give 
to  Johnny  when  he  grew  up. 

Into  her  helter-skelter  house  came,  on  this 
Saturday  afternoon,  her  landlord.  He  had 
knocked  on  her  front  door  with  the  gold  head 
of  his  cane,  and  when  she  opened  it  he  had  said, 
"How  do?  How  do?"  and  walked  ahead  of 
her  into  her  little  parlor.  It  was  so  little  and 
he  was  so  big  that  he  seemed  to  fill  the  room, 

36 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Miss  Lydia  said,  in  a  fluttered  voice, 
" How  do  you  do? " 

"Miss  Sampson/'  he  said — he  had  seated 
himself  in  a  chair  that  creaked  under  his 
ruddy  bulk  and  he  put  both  hands  on  the 
top  of  his  cane;  his  black  eyes  were  friendly 
and  amused — "I've  had  it  in  mind  for  some 
time  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"I  need  not  go  back  to — to  a  painful  ex 
perience  that  we  both  remember." 

Miss  Lydia  put  her  head  on  one  side  in  a 
puzzled  way,  as  if  her  memory  had  failed 
her. 

"You  will  know  that  I  appreciated  your 
attitude  at  that  time.  I  appreciated  it 
deeply." 

Miss  Lydia  rolled  her  handkerchief  into  a 
wabbly  lamplighter;  she  seemed  to  have 
nothing  to  say. 

"I  have  come  here  now,  not  merely  to 
tell  you  this,  but  to  add  that  I  intend  to 
relieve  you  of  the  care  of — -ah,  the  little 
boy." 

Miss  Lydia  was  silent. 

"There  are  things  I  should  like  to  give 
him.  He  says  he  wants  a  pony.  And  I 
mean  to  educate  him.  It  would  seem  strange 

37 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

to  do  this  as  an  outsider;  it  might  cause — 
ah,  comment.  So  I  am  going  to  take 
him." 

"Any  grandfather  would  want  to,"  said 
Lydia  Sampson. 

Mr.  Smith  raised  his  bushy  eyebrows. 
"Well,  we  won't  put  it  on  that  ground. 
But  I  like  the  boy,  though  I  hear  he  gets  into 
fights;  I'm  afraid  he  has  the  devil  of  a 
temper,"  said  Mr.  Smith,  chuckling  proudly. 
"But  I've  watched  him,  and  he's  no  coward 
and  no  fool,  either.  In  fact,  I  hear  that  he 
is  a  wonder  mathematically.  God  knows 
where  he  got  his  brains!  Well,  I  am  going 
to  adopt  him.  But  that  will  make  no  dif 
ference  in  your  income.  That  is  assured  to 
you  as  long  as  you  live.  I  am  indebted  to 
you,  Miss  Sampson.  Profoundly  indebted." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"I  shall  have  a  governess  for  him,"  said 
Mr.  Smith;  "but  I  hope  you  will  not  be  too 
much  occupied" — his  voice  was  very  genial, 
and  as  he  spoke  he  bore  down  hard  on  his 
cane  and  began  to  struggle  to  his  feet — "not 
too  much  occupied  to  keep  a  friendly  eye 
upon  him."  He  was  standing  now,  a  rather 
Jove-like  figure,  before  whom  Miss  Lydia 
looked  really  like  a  little  brown  grasshopper. 

38 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Yes,  I  trust  you  will  not  lose  your  interest 
in  him/'  he  ended. 

"I  won't,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"I  have  made  all  the  arrangements/'  said 
Johnny's  grandfather.  "I  simply  told — ah, 
the  people  who  know  about  him,  that  I  was 
going  to  take  him."  He  was  standing, 
switching  his  cane  behind  him;  it  hit  an 
encroaching  table  leg  and  he  apologized  pro 
fusely.  "Mary  was  badly  scared.  As  if  I 
could  not  manage  a  thing  like  that!  I  like 
to  scare — him" — the  new  Mr.  Smith  lifted 
his  upper  lip,  and  his  teeth  gleamed — "  but, 
of  course,  I  told  her  not  to  worry.  Well,  I 
hope  you  will  see  him  frequently." 

"I  shall,"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"Of  course  you  and  I  must  tell  the  same 
story  as  to  his  antecedents.  So  if  you  will 
let  me  know  how  you  have  accounted  for 
him,  I'll  be  a  very  good  parrot! " 

"I  haven't  told  any  stories.  I  just  let 
people  call  him  Smith,  and  I  just  said — to 
Johnny,  and  everybody — that  I  was  a  friend 
of  his  mother's.  That's  true,  you  know." 

"It  is  true,  madam;    it  is,  indeed!"  said 
Mary's  father.     He  bowed  with  grave  court 
liness.     "There  was  never  a  better  friend 
than  you,  Miss  Sampson." 
4  39 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"I've  been  very  careful  not  to  tell  any 
thing  that  wasn't  true,"  said  Miss  Lydia. 
"I  told  Johnny  his  father  and  mother  had 
lived  out  West ;  they  did,  you  know,  for  four 
months.  Johnny  began  to  ask  questions 
when  he  was  only  five;  he  said  he  wished  he 
had  a  mother  like  other  little  boys.  I  had  to 
tell  him  something,  so  I  told  him  her  name 
had  been  Norton.  That  is  true,  you  know. 
Mary's  middle  name  is  Norton.  And  I  said 
I  didn't  know  of  any  cousins  or  uncles;  and 
that's  true.  And  I  said  'I  had  been  told' 
that  his  father  and  mother  had  been  killed  in 
a  carriage  accident.  I  was  told  so;  people 
made  it  up,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  simply,  "so 
I  just  let  'em.  I  never  said  his  parents  had 
died  that  way.  Well,  it  made  Johnny  cry. 
He  used  to  say:  'Poor  mamma!  Poor 
mamma!'  I  haven't  told  what  you'd  call 
lies;  I  have  only  reserved  the  truth." 

"Pathetic,  his  ' wanting'  a  mother,"  said 
Mr.  Smith.  "Damn  my  son-in-law!  Ex 
cuse  me,  madam." 

"It  would  be  nice  if  you  would  forgive 
him,"  Miss  Lydia  suggested,  timidly. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  never  for 
give.  .  .  .  Well,  I  will  keep  up  the  geo 
graphical  fiction  and  the  runaway  horses. 

40 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

And  now  I  must  not  detain  you  further.     I 
will  take  the  boy  to-morrow." 

He  put  out  his  big  hand,  and  Miss  Lydia, 
putting  her  little  one  into  it,  said: 

"Who  is  going  to  adopt  him?" 

"  Who? "  said  Mr.  Smith.  "  Why,  I !  Who 
did  you  suppose  was  going  to — Robertson? 
My  dear  Miss  Sampson,  reassure  yourself 
on  that  point!  That  hound  shall  never  get 
hold  of  him!" 

"Of  course,"  Miss  Lydia  agreed,  nodding, 
"Johnny's  parents,  or  his  grandfather,  have  a 
right  to  him." 

Mr.  Smith  was  just  leaving  the  room,  but 
he  paused  on  the  threshold  and  flung  a  care 
less  word  back  to  her:  "His  parents  could 
never  take  him.  The  thing  would  come 
out." 

"If  his  grandfather  takes  him  it  will  come 
out,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  following  him  into 
the  hall. 

"Yes,  but  his  'grandfather*  won't  take 
him,"  the  old  man  said,  with  a  grunt  of 
amusement;  "it  is  'Mr.  Smith*  who  is  going 
to  do  that." 

"'Mr.  Smith 'can't." 

Her  caller  turned  and  stared  at  her 
blankly, 

41 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"His  'grandfather'  can  have  him,"  said 
Miss  Lydia. 

"What" 

"His  relations  can  have  Johnny." 

"But  I—  " 

"If  you  are  a  relation/*  Miss  Lydia  said — 
her  voice  was  only  a  little  whisper — "you 
can  have  him." 

They  stood  there  in  the  hall,  the  big  man, 
and  the  small,  battling  gambler  of  a  woman, 
who  was  staking  her  most  precious  possession 
— a  disowned  child — on  the  chance  that  the 
pride  of  the  man  would  outweigh  his  desire 
for  ownership.  Their  eyes — misty,  fright 
ened  blue,  and  flashing  black — seemed  to 
meet  and  clash.  "He  won't  dare,"  she  was 
saying  to  herself,  her  heart  pounding  in  her 
throat.  And  Johnny's  grandfather  was  say 
ing  to  himself,  very  softly,  "The  devil ! "  He 
bent  a  little,  as  an  elephant  might  stoop  to 
scrutinize  a  grasshopper  which  was  trying  to 
block  his  way,  and  looked  at  her.  Then  he 
roared  with  laughter. 

"Well,  upon  my  word!"  he  said.  He  put 
his  cane  under  his  arm,  fumbled  for  his 
handkerchief,  and  wiped  his  eyes.  "Miss 
Sampson,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  bully.  And 
you  would  be  a  highly  successful  blackmailer. 

42 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

But  you  are  no  coward;  I'll  say  that  for 
you.  You  are  a  damned  game  little  party! 
I'll  see  to  you,  ma'am,  I'll  see  to  you! — and 
Til  get  the  child.  But  I  like  you.  Damned 
if  I  don't !" 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  gambler  went  on  her  trembling  legs 
back  to  her  cluttered  parlor  and  sat 
down,  panting  and  pallid.  The  throw  of 
the  dice  had  been  in  her  favor! 

It  was  curious  that  she  had  no  misgiving 
as  to  what  she  was  doing  in  thus  closing  the 
door  of  opportunity  to  Johnny — 'for  of 
course,  the  new  Mr.  Smith's  protection  would 
mean  every  sort  of  material  opportunity 
for  him!  If  it  had  been  his  "grandfather's" 
protection  which  had  been  offered,  perhaps 
she  might  have  hesitated,  for  that  would 
have  meant  material  opportunity  plus  a  love 
great  enough  to  tell  the  truth;  and  Miss 
Lydia's  own  love — which  was  but  a  spiritual 
opportunity — could  not  compete  with  that! 
As  it  was,  she  tested  opportunities  by  saying, 
"His  grandfather  can  have  him." 

Of  course  it  was  just  her  old  method  of 
choosing  the  better  part.  .  .  .  All  her  life 
this  gallant,  timid  woman  had  weighed 
values.  She  had  weighed  the  reputation  of 

44 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

being  a  jilt  as  against  marriage  to  a  man 
she  did  not  respect — and  she  found  the 
temporary  notoriety  of  the  first  lighter  than 
the  lifelong  burden  of  the  second.  She 
weighed  values  again,  when  she  put  her  hun 
dred  dollars'  worth  of  generosity  on  one  side 
of  the  scales,  and  William's  meanness  on  the 
other — and  when  generosity  kicked  the  beam 
she  was  glad  to  be  jilted.  She  had  even 
weighed  the  painful  unrealities  of  concealed 
poverty  as  against  open  shabbiness,  and  she 
saw  that  a  dress  she  couldn't  afford  was  a 
greater  load  to  carry  than  the  consciousness 
of  the  spot  on  her  old  skirt — especially  as  the 
spot  was  glorified  by  the  memory  of  a 
friend's  hospitality! 

So  now,  when  the  new  Mr.  Smith  con-* 
sidered  adopting  her  boy,  this  simple  soul 
weighed  values  for  Johnny:  Mr.  Smith — or 
Johnny's  grandfather?  Pride — or  love?  And 
pride  outweighed  love.  Miss  Lydia  put 
her  hands  over  her  face  and  prayed  aloud: 
"God,  keep  him  proud,  so  I  can  keep 
Johnny!" 

Apparently  God  did,  for  it  was  only  "Mr. 
Smith"  who  made  further  efforts  to  get  her 
child.  They  were  very  determined  efforts. 
Miss  Lydia's  landlord  saw  her  again,  and 

45 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

urged.  She  met  what  he  had  to  say  with  a 
speechless  obstinacy  which  made  him  ex 
tremely  angry.  When  he  saw  her  a  third 
time  he  offered  her  an  extraordinary  increase 
in  the  honorarium — for  which  he  had  the 
grace  five  minutes  later  to  apologize.  He 
saw  her  once  more,  and  threatened  he  would 
"take"  Johnny,  anyhow! 

''How?"  said  poor,  shaking  Miss  Lydia. 
Then,  as  a  last  resort,  he  sent  his  lawyer  to 
her,  which  scared  her  almost  to  death.  But 
the  interview  produced,  for  Mr.  Smith,  noth 
ing  except  legal  assurance  that  he  could 
doubtless  secure  the  person  of  his  grandson 
by  appealing  to  the  courts  in  the  character  of  a 
grandfather — for  Miss  Lydia  had  never  taken 
out  papers  for  adoption. 

"The  lady  has  nine-tenths  of  the  law," 
said  Mr.  Smith's  legal  adviser,  who  had  been 
consulted,  first,  as  to  a  hypothetical  case, 
and  then  told  the  facts.  "The  other  one- 
tenth  won't  secure  a  child  whom  you  don't 
claim  as  a  relative.  And  the  law  means 
publicity." 

"The  hussy!"  said  Mr.  Smith.  "She's 
put  a  spoke  in  my  wheel." 

"She  has,"  said  the  lawyer,  and  grinned 
behind  his  hand. 

46 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Mr.  Smith  glared  at  him.  "That  little 
wet  hen!" 

Well!  after  one  or  two  more  efforts,  he 
swallowed  his  defeat,  and,  though  for  nearly 
a  year  he  would  not  recognize  Miss  Lydia 
when  he  met  her  in  the  street,  he  made  fast 
friends  with  the  freckled,  very  pugnacious  boy 
at  his  gates.  He  used  to  stop  and  speak  to  him 
and  tell  him  to  say  his  multiplication  table, 
and  then  give  him  a  quarter  and  walk  off, 
greatly  diverted.  Sometimes  when  he  saw  his 
daughter  in  Philadelphia,  he  would  tell  her,  sar 
donically,  that  "that  child"  had  more  brains 
than  his  father  and  mother  put  together! 

"Not  than  his  father,"  poor,  cowering 
Mary  would  protest.  And  her  father,  look 
ing  at  her  with  unforgiving  eyes,  would  say, 
"I  wish  I  owned  him."  ("I  like  to  scare 
'em!"  he  added  to  himself.)  He  certainly 
scared  Mary.  Scared  her,  and  made  her  feel 
a  strange  anger,  because  he  had  something 
which  did  not  belong  to  him;  "after  all,  the 
boy  is  ours"  she  told  her  husband.  She 
always  went  to  bed  with  a  headache  after 
one  of  Mr.  Smith's  visits.  As  for  Carl,  his 
face  would  grow  crimson  with  helpless 
mortification  under  the  gibes  of  his  father- 
in-law  as  Mary  repeated  them  to  him. 

47 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Once,  when  she  told  him  that  her  father 
had  "taken  the  boy  home  to  supper  with 
him/'  he  swore  under  his  breath,  and  she 
agreed,  hurriedly: 

" Father  was  simply  mad  to  notice  him! 
People  will  guess — " 

But  Carl  broke  in:  "Oh,  I  didn't  mean 
that.  No  one  would  ever  suspect  anything. 
I  meant,  what  right  has  he  to  get  fond  of — 
the  boy?" 

"Not  the  slightest!"  Mary  said.  And 
they  neither  of  them  knew  that  they  were 
beginning  to  be  jealous. 

The  occasion  of  Mr.  Smith's  "madness" 
was  one  winter  afternoon  when,  meeting 
Johnny  in  the  road,  he  took  him  into  his 
carriage,  then  sent  word  to  Miss  Lydia 
that  he  was  keeping  the  child  to  supper. 
He  put  him  in  a  big  chair  at  the  other  end 
of  the  table  and  baited  him  with  questions, 
and  roared  with  laughter  and  pride  at  his 
replies.  Also,  he  gave  him  good  advice,  as 
a  grandfather  should : 

"I  hear  you  are  a  bad  boy  and  get  into 
fights.  Never  fight,  sir,  never  fight!  But 
if  you  do  fight,  lick  your  man." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Johnny. 

"And  don't  be  afraid  to  tackle  a  bigger 
48 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

man  than  yourself.  Only  cowards  are  afraid 
to  do  that!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Johnny. 

"But  of  course  I  don't  approve  of  fighting. 
Only  bad  boys  fight.  Remember  that!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Johnny,  and  scraped  his 
plate  loudly  to  attract  the  attention  of  old 
Alfred,  his  grandfather 's  man,  who,  familiar 
and  friendly  from  thirty  years'  service,  said, 
as  he  brought  the  desired  flannel  cakes, 
"The  little  man  holds  his  fork  just  as  you 
do,  sir!"  At  which  Mr.  Smith  stopped 
laughing,  and  said: 

"Miss  Sampson  ought  to  teach  him  better 


manners." 


He  did  not  invite  Johnny  to  supper  again, 
which  would  have  been  a  relief  to  Mary  if 
she  had  known  it;  and  was  just  as  well,  any 
how,  for  Miss  Lydia,  quaking  at  her  own 
supper  table  (while  Johnny  was  1 '  holding  his 
fork"  in  his  grandfather's  fashion!)  had  said 
to  herself,  "I'll  tell  him  to  say,  'No,  thank 
you,  sir/  if  Mr.  Smith  ever  asks  him  again." 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Miss  Lydia's 
landlord  softened  toward  her  sufficiently  to 
bow  to  her  as  he  passed  her  house.  Once  he 
even  stopped  her  in  the  street  to  ask  the 
particulars  of  one  of  Johnny's  escapades:  It 

49 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

appeared  that  a  boy — one  of  the  Mack  boys, 
as  it  happened,  who  was  always  in  hot  water 
in  Old  Chester — got  the  credit  of  a  smashed 
sash  in  Mr.  Steele's  greenhouse,  which  was 
really  Johnny's  doing;  and  in  spite  of  snif 
fling  denials,  the  (for  once)  innocent  Mack 
boy  was  just  about  to  get  what  the  irate 
owner  of  the  sash  called  a  walloping,  when 
Johnny  Smith,  breathless,  and  mad  as  a 
hatter,  rushed  into  the  greenhouse  to  say,  "It 
was  me  done  it!" — upon  which  the  richly 
deserved  walloping  was  handed  over  to  the 
real  culprit.  Later,  for  some  private  grudge, 
Johnny  paid  it  all  back  to  young  Mack,  but 
for  the  moment — "  I  take  my  medicine/'  said 
Johnny,  showing  his  teeth.  "I  don't  hide 
behind  another  feller.  But  you  bet  I'll 
smash  Andy  Steele's  hotbed  sashes  every 
chance  I  get!"  Poor  little  Miss  Lydia  was 
frightened  to  death  at  such  a  wicked  remark, 
and  prayed  that  God  would  please  forgive 
Johnny;  and  she  was  very  bewildered  to 
have  Mr.  Smith,  listening  to  this  dreadful 
story,  chuckle  with  delight:  "He'll  come 
to  a  bad  end,  the  scoundrel!  Tell  him  I  say 
I  expect  he'll  be  hanged.  I'll  give  him  a 
quarter  for  every  pane  he  broke."  After 
this  interview  Mr.  Smith  used  to  call  on 

50 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Miss  Lydia  occasionally  just  to  inquire  what 
was  Johnny's  latest  crime,  and  once  he 
invited  his  tenant  to  supper,  "with  your 
young  scamp,"  his  invitation  ran.  She 
went,  and  wore  her  blue  silk,  and  sat  on  the 
edge  of  her  chair,  watching  the  grandfather 
and  grandson,  while  the  vein  on  her  thin 
temple  throbbed  with  fright.  But  it  took 
another  year  of  longing  for  his  own  flesh 
and  blood  before  the  new  Mr.  Smith  reached 
an  amazing,  though  temporary,  decision. 

"I'll  have  him,"  he  said  to  himself;  "I 
will  have  him!  I'll  swallow  the  wet  hen,  if 
I  can't  get  him  any  other  way.  I'll — I'll 
marry  the  woman."  .  .  .  But  he  hesitated 
for  still  another  month  or  two,  for,  though 
he  wanted  his  grandson,  he  did  not  hanker 
to  make  a  fool  of  himself;  and  a  rich  man 
in  the  late  seventies  who  marries  an  im 
pecunious  spinster  in  the  fifties  looks  rather 
like  a  fool. 

But  when  he  finally  reached  the  point  of 
swallowing  Miss  Lydia  he  lost  no  time  in 
walking  out  from  his  iron  gates  one  fine 
afternoon  and  banging  on  her  front  door 
with  his  stick.  When  she  opened  it  he  an 
nounced  that  he  had  something  he  wanted 
to  say.  In  his  own  mind,  the  words  he  pro- 
Si 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

posed  to  speak  were  to  this  effect:  ''I'm  go 
ing  to  marry  you — to  get  the  boy."  To  be 
sure,  he  would  not  express  it  just  that  way — 
one  has  to  go  round  Robin  Hood's  barn  in 
talking  to  females!  So  he  began: 

"I  have  been  planning  more  comfortable 
quarters  for  you,  ma'am,  than  this  house. 
More  suitable  quarters  for  my — for  the  boy; 
and  I—  Then  he  stopped.  Somehow  or 
other,  looking  at  Miss  Lydia,  sitting  there  so 
small  and  frightened  and  brave,  he  was  sud 
denly  ashamed.  He  could  not  offer  this  gal 
lant  soul  the  indignity  of  a  bribe !  "  If  I  can't 
get  the  boy  by  fair  means,  I  won't  by  foul," 
he  to]d  himself;  so  instead  of  offering  him 
self,  he  talked  about  the  weather;  "and — and 
I  want  you  to  know  that  Johnny  shall  be  put 
down  for  something  handsome  in  my  will.  It 
won't  be  suspicious.  Everybody  in  Old  Ches 
ter  knows  that  I  like  him — living  here  at  my 
gates;  though  he  has  the  devil  of  a  temper! 
Bad  thing.  Very  bad  thing.  He  should  con 
trol  it.  I've  always  controlled  mine." 

Miss  Lydia  felt  a  sudden  wave  of  pity;  he 
was  so  helpless,  and  she  was  so  powerful — 
and  so  lucky!  All  she  said,  in  her  breathless 
voice,  was  that  he  "was  very  kind — about 
the  will." 

52 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Johnny's  grandfather,  looking  into  her 
sweet,  blue  eyes,  suddenly  said — and  with 
no  thought  whatever  of  Johnny — "I  wish 
I  was  twenty  years  younger!"  The  wistful 
genuineness  of  that  was  the  nearest  he  came 
to  asking  her  to  marry  him.  He  went  home 
feeling,  as  he  walked  up  to  his  great,  empty 
house,  very  old  and  forlorn,  and  yet  relieved 
that  he  had  not  offered  an  affront  to  Miss 
Lydia  nor,  incidentally,  made  a  fool  of  him 
self.  Then  he  thought  with  the  old,  hot 
anger,  of  Carl  Robertson,  and  with  a  dreary 
impatience  of  his  daughter ;  it  was  their  doing 
that  he  couldn't  own  his  own  grandson! 
"Well,  the  boy  shall  have  his  grandfather's 
money,"  he  said  to  himself,  stumbling  a  little 
as  he  went  up  the  flight  of  granite  steps  to 
his  front  door.  "Every  bit  of  it!  I  don't 
care  whether  people  think  things  or  not. 
Damn  'em,  let  them  think!  What  differ 
ence  does  it  make?  Robertson  can  go  to 
hell."  He  was  so  dulled  that,  for  the  mo 
ment,  he  forgot  that  if  Robertson  went  to  hell 
Mary  would  have  to  go,  too.  Later  that 
night  his  tired  mind  cleared,  and  he  knew  it 
wouldn't  do  to  let  Johnny  have  his  "grand 
father's"  money,  and  that  even  Mr.  Smith's 
money  must  be  bestowed  with  caution. 

53 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"I'll  leave  a  bequest  that  won't  compro 
mise  Mary,  but  she  and  Robertson  must 
somehow  do  the  rest.  I'll  send  for  her  next 
week  and  tell  her  what  to  do;  and  then  I'll 
fix  up  a  codicil." 

But  next  week  he  said  next  week ;  and  after 
that  he  thought,  listlessly,  that  he  wasn't 
equal  to  seeing  her.  "  She's  fond  of  Robert 
son — I  can't  stand  that!  I  never  forgive." 

So  he  didn't  send  for  his  daughter.  But 
a  week  later  William  King  did.  .  .  . 

"I  suppose  I've  got  to  go?"  Mary  told  her 
husband,  looking  up  from  the  doctor's  tele 
gram  with  scared  eyes. 

"It  wouldn't  be  decent  not  to,"  he  said. 

"But  he  is  right  there,  by  the  gate!  I 
might  see  him.  Oh — I  don't  dare!" 

"Women  are  queer,"  Johnny's  father 
ruminated.  "I  should  think  you'd  like  to 
see  him.  I  guess  all  this  mother-love  talk 
is  a  fairy  tale";  then,  before  she  could  re 
tort,  he  put  his  arms  around  her.  "I  didn't 
mean  it,  dear!  Forgive  me.  Only,  Mary, 
I  get  to  thinking  about  him,  and  I  feel  as 
if  I'd  like  to  see  the  little  beggar!" 

"But  how  can  I  'love'  him?"  she  defended 
herself,  in  a  smothered  voice;  "I  don't  know 
him." 

54 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Stop  and  speak  to  him  while  you're  at 
your  father's/'  he  urged;  "and  then  you 
will  know  him." 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't— I  couldn't !  I'd  be  afraid 
to." 

"But  why?  Nobody  could  possibly  sup 
pose —  " 

"Because,"  she  said,  "if  I  saw  him  once 
/  might  want  to  see  him  again." 

Carl  frowned  with  bewilderment,  but 
Johnny's  mother  began  to  pace  up  and  down, 
back  and  forth — then  suddenly  flew  out  of 
the  room  and  upstairs,  to  fall,  crying,  upon 
her  bed. 

However,  she  obeyed  Doctor  King's  sum 
mons.  The  day  the  stage  went  jogging  and 
creaking  past  Miss  Lydia's  door  the  lady 
inside  looked  straight  ahead  of  her,  and  some 
one  who  saw  her  said  she  was  very  pale — 
"anxious  about  her  father,"  Old  Chester  said, 
sympathetically.  Then  Old  Chester  won 
dered  whether  Carl  was  so  unchristian  as  to 
refuse  to  come  and  see  his  father-in-law — "on 
his  deathbed  !"• —or  whether  old  Mr.  Smith 
'  'on  his  death  bed' '  was  so  unchristian  as  to  re 
fuse  to  see  his  son-in-law.  "What  did  they 
quarrel  about!"  Old  Chester  said.  "Cer 
tainly  Mr.  Smith  seemed  friendly  enough 
5  55 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

to   the   young   man    before   Mary  married 
him. 

When  Mary — she  was  in  the  early  thirties 
now,  and  Johnny  was  thirteen — came  into  her 
father's  room  and  sat  down  beside  him,  the 
old  man  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her. 

"Pleasant  journey? "  he  said,  thickly. 

"Yes,  father.  I  hope  you  are  feeling 
better  ?" 

His  eyes  closed  and  he  seemed  to  forget 
her.  Later,  looking  up  at  her  from  the  pil 
lows  of  his  great  carved  rosewood  bed — the 
headboard  looked  like  the  Gothic  doors  of  a 
cathedral — he  said,  "Tell  your  husband" — 
he  lifted  his  upper  lip  and  showed  his  teeth — • 
"to  educate  him." 

Mary  said,  "Who?" — then  could  have 
bitten  her  tongue  out,  for  of  course  there  was 
only  one  "him"  for  these  three  people! 
She  gave  a  frightened  glance  about  the  room, 
but  there  was  no  one  to  hear  that  betraying 
pronoun.  She  said,  faintly:  :<Yes,  father. 
Now  try  to  rest  and  don't  talk.  You'll  feel 
better  in  the  morning." 

"He  hates  a  coward  as  much  as  I  do," 
Mr.  Smith  mumbled.  "And  he  has  brains; 
doesn't  get  'em  from  you  two.  Guess  he 
gets  'em  from  me." 

56 


"IF   I    SAW   HIM   ONCE   I    MIGHT    WANT   TO   SEE   HIM   AGAIN" 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Father!  Please — please!"  she  said,  in  a 
terrified  whisper.  "Somebody  might  hear." 

"They're  welcome.  Mary  ...  he  handed 
me  back  my  own  quarter  for  my  own 
apples.  No  fool."  He  gave  a  grunt  of 
laughter.  "He  said,  'Twelve  times  twelve* 
like  lightning — when  he  was  only  ten!  .  .  . 
Last  year  he  took  his  own  licking,  though  the 
Mack  boy  was  in  for  it.  ...  I'm  going  to 
give  him  a  pony." 

After  that  he  seemed  to  forget  her  and  slept 
for  a  while.  A  day  or  two  later  he  forgot 
everything,  even  Johnny.  The  last  person 
he  remembered,  curiously  enough,  was  Miss 
Lydia  Sampson. 

It  was  when  he  was  dying  that  he  said, 
suddenly  opening  those  marvelous  eyes  and 
smiling  faintly:  "Little  wet  hen!  Damned 
game  little  party.  Stood  right  up  to  me. 
.  .  .  Wish  I'd  married  her  thirteen  years 
ago.  Then  there'd  have  been  no  fuss  about 
my  grandson." 

"Grandson?"  said  Doctor  King,  in  a  whis 
per  to  Mrs.  Robertson.  And  she  whispered 
back,  "He  is  wandering." 

When  Mary's  husband  arrived  for  the 
funeral  and  for  the  reading  of  the  will  (in 
which  there  was  nothing  "handsome"  for 

57 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Johnny!)  the  doctor  told  him  of  the  new  Mr. 
Smith's  last  words ;  and  Mr.  Robertson  said, 
hurriedly,  "Delirious,  of  course." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Doctor  King. 

But  when  he  walked  home  with  Doctor 
Lavendar,  after  the  funeral,  he  said,  "Have 
you  any  idea  who  Johnny  Smith  belongs  to, 
Doctor  Lavendar?" 

"Miss  Lydia,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar, 
promptly. 

To  which  William  King  replied,  admiring 
ly,  "I  have  never  understood  how  anybody 
could  look  as  innocent  as  you,  and  yet  be  so 
chock-full  of  other  people's  sins!  Wonder 
if  his  mother  will  ever  claim  him?" 

"Wonder  if  Miss  Lydia  would  give  him  up 
if  she  did?"  Doctor  Lavendar  said. 

"She'd  have  to,"  William  said. 

"On  the  principle  that  a  'mother  is  a 
mother  still,  the  holiest  thing  alive'?"  Doc 
tor  Lavendar  quoted. 

"On  the  principle  of  ownership,"  said 
William  King.  "As  to  a  mother  being  a 
'holy  thing,'  I  have  never  noticed  that  the 
mere  process  of  child-bearing  produces 
sanctity." 

"William,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar,  "Mrs. 
Drayton  would  say  you  were  indelicate. 

58 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Also,  I  believe  you  know  that  two  and  two 
make  four?" 

"I  have  a  pretty  good  head  for  arithme 
tic,"  said  William  King,  "but  I  only  added 
things  up  a  day  or  two  ago." 


CHAPTER  IV 

A?TER  Mr.  Smith's  death  the  Robertsons 
stayed  on  in  Old  Chester  to  close  the 
house.  Mary  hardly  left  it,  even  to  walk  in 
the  garden  behind  the  circling  brick  wall. 
But  she  sent  her  husband  on  innumerable 
errands  into  Old  Chester,  and  when  he  came 
back  she  would  say,  "Did  you  see — him?" 

And  sometimes  Johnny's  father  would  say, 
"Yes." 

"You  didn't  speak  to  him?"  she  would 
ask,  in  a  panic. 

"Of  course  not!  But  he's  an  attractive 
boy."  Once  he  added,  "Why  don't  you 
go  and  call  on  Miss  Lydia — and  see  him 
yourself?" 

She  caught  her  soft  hands  together  in 
terror.  "Go  to  Miss  Lydia's?  I?  Oh,  I 
couldn't!  Oh,  Carl,  don't  you  see — /  might 
like  him!" 

"You  couldn't  help  it  if  you  saw  him." 

"That's  just  it!  I  don't  want  to  like  him: 
Nothing  would  induce  me  to  see  him." 

60 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Yet  there  came  a  moment  when  the  urge 
of  maternity  was  greater  than  the  instinct 
of  secrecy,  greater  even  than  the  fear  of 
awakening  in  herself  that  "liking"  which 
would  inevitably  mean  pain.  She  and  John 
ny's  father  were  to  leave  Old  Chester  the 
next  day;  for  a  week  she  had  been  count 
ing  the  hours  until  they  would  start,  and 
she  could  turn  her  back  on  this  gnawing 
temptation!  But  when  that  last  day  came, 
she  vacillated:  "I'll  just  walk  down  and 
look  at  Miss  Lydia's;  he  might  be  going  in 
or  coming  out.  .  .  .  No!  I  won't;  he  might 
see  me,  and  think —  ...  I  must — I  must. 
.  .  .  Oh,  I  can't,  I  won't!"  Yet  in  the  late 
afternoon  she  slipped  out  of  the  house 
and  went  stealthily  down  the  carriage  road, 
and,  standing  in  the  shadow  of  one  of  the 
great  stone  gateposts,  stared  over  at  Miss 
Lydia's  open  door.  As  she  stood  there  she 
heard  a  sound.  Her  heart  leaped — and  fell, 
shuddering.  Just  once  in  her  life  had  she 
felt  that  elemental  pang;  it  was  when 
another  sound,  the  little,  thin  cry  of  birth 
pierced  her  ears.  Now  the  sound  was  of 
laughter,  the  shrill,  cracking  laughter  of  an 
adolescent  boy.  She  crept  back  to  the  big 
house,  so  exhausted  that  she  said  to  old 

61 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Alfred,  "Tell  Mr.  Robertson  that  I  have  a 
headache,  and  am  lying  down." 

Later,  when  her  husband,  full  of  concern 
at  her  discomfort,  came  upstairs  to  sit  on 
the  edge  of  her  bed  and  ask  her  how  she  felt, 
she  told  him  what  had  happened. 

"I  wouldn't  see  him  for  anything, "  she 
said,  gasping;  "even  his  voice  just  about 
killed  me!  Oh,  Carl,  suppose  I  were  to  like 
him?  Oh,  what  shall  I  do? — /  don't  want 
to  like  liim." 

"Why,  my  dear,  it  would  be  all  right  if  you 
did,'*  he  tried  to  reassure  her.  "There's  no 
reason  why  you  shouldn't  see  him  once  in  a 
while — and  like  him,  too.  /  like  him,  though 
I  haven't  spoken  to  him.  But  I'm  going  to." 

"Oh,  Carl,  don't—"  she  besought  him. 

But  he  said:  "Don't  worry.  You  know 
I  would  never  do  anything  rash." 

And  the  next  day  he  stopped  boldly  at 
Miss  Lydia's  door,  and  talked  about  the 
weather,  and  gave  Johnny  a  dollar. 

"Go  downstreet  and  buy  something,"  he 
said. 

And  Johnny  said,  "Thank  you,  sir!"  and 
went  off,  whistling. 

"He's  a  promising  boy,"  Mr.  Robertson 
said,  in  a  low  voice. 

62 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Miss  Lydia  was  extremely  nervous  during 
this  five  minutes.  She  had  been  nervous 
during  the  weeks  that  Mary  and  Carl  were 
up  there  in  the  big  house.  Suppose  they 
should  see  just  how  "promising"  Johnny 
was — and  want  him? — and  say  they  would 
take  him?  Then  she  would  reassure  herself: 
"They  can  only  take  their  son — and  they 
don't  want  him!"  Yet  she  was  infinitely  re 
lieved  when,  the  next  day,  the  Smith  house 
was  finally  closed  and  the  "For  Sale  or  To 
Let"  sign  put  up  on  the  iron  gates  that  shut 
the  graveled  driveway  from  Old  Chester's 
highroad. 

"They'll  sell  the  house  and  never  come 
back,"  she  told  herself.  And  indeed  Johnny 
was  a  year  older,  a  year  more  plucky  and 
high-tempered  and  affectionate,  before  Miss 
Lydia  had  any  further  cause  for  uneasiness. 

Then,  suddenly,  Mr.  Carl  Robertson  ap 
peared  in  town;  he  came,  he  said,  to  make 
sure  that  the  still  unsold  Smith  house  was  not 
getting  dilapidated.  While  he  was  looking 
it  over  he  took  occasion  to  tell  several  people 
that  that  boy  who  lived  with  the  old  lady 
in  the  house  by  the  gate  was  an  attractive 
youngster. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "Mary 
63 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

ought  to  sell  that  house  to  settle  the  estate, 
but  she  says  she  won't  turn  the  old  lady  out. 
The  little  beggar  she  takes  care  of  seems  a 
nice  little  chap."  Then  he  said,  casually, 
"Who  were  his  father  and  mother? " 

"  That's  what  nobody  knows,"  some  one 
said;  then  added,  significantly,  "Lydia  is 
very  secretive."  And  some  one  else  said, 
"  There  is  a  suspicion  that  the  child  is  her 


own." 


"Her  own?"  Carl  Robertson  gaped,  open- 
mouthed.  And  when  he  turned  his  back 
on  this  particular  gossip  his  face  was  darkly 
red.  "Somebody  in  this  town  needs  a  horse 
whipping!"  he  told  himself;  "God  forbid 
that  Miss  Sampson  knows  there  are  such 
fools  in  the  world!"  He  was  so  angry  and 
ashamed  that  his  half-formed  wish  to  do 
something  for  the  child  crystallized  into  pur 
pose.  But  before  he  made  any  effort  to 
carry  his  purpose  out  he  discounted  public 
opinion.  "Nothing  like  truth  to  throw 
people  off  the  track,"  he  reflected.  So,  with 
the  frankness  which  may  be  such  a  perfect 
screen  for  lack  of  candor,  he  put  everybody 
he  met  off  the  track  by  saying  he  was  going 
to  give  Miss  Lydia  a  hand  in  bringing  up 
that  boy  of  hers. 

64 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Very  generous/'  said  Mrs.  Barkley,  and 
told  Old  Chester  that  the  fat  Mr.  Robert 
son  was  an  agreeable  person,  and  she  did  won 
der  why  his  father-in-law  had  not  got  along 
with  him! 

"The  reason  I  spoke  of  it  to  Mrs.  Bark- 
ley/'  Carl  Robertson  told  Miss  Lydia,  "was 
that  I  knew  she'd  inform  everybody  in  town. 
So  that  if,  later  on,  I  want  to  see  the — the 
boy,  once  in  a  while,  it  won't  set  people 
gossiping." 

It  was  the  night  before  he  was  leaving  Old 
Chester  that  he  said  this.  They  were  in 
Miss  Lydia's  parlor;  the  door  was  closed,  for 
Johnny  was  in  the  dining  room,  doing  his  ex 
amples,  one  leg  around  the  leg  of  his  chair,  his 
tongue  out,  and  breathing  heavily:  "Farmer 
Jones  sold  ten  bushels  of  wheat  at — " 

"I  do  want  to  see  more  of  him,"  Mr. 
Robertson  said;  "and  I  want  Mary  to." 

"Do  you?"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"Well,  he's  ours,  and—" 

"He's  his  father's  and  mother's,"  she  con 
ceded;  "they  would  naturally  want  to  see 
him." 

"Yes,"  Carl  Robertson  said;  "but  of 
course  we  could  never  do  more  than  that. 
We  could  never  have  him." 

65 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Miss  Lydia  felt  her  legs  trembling,  and  she 
put  her  hands  under  her  black  silk  apron 
lest  they  might  tremble,  too.  "No/'  she 
agreed,  "I  suppose  you  couldn't." 

He  nodded.  "It  would  be  impossible; 
people  must  never  suspect — "  He  stopped 
through  sheer  shame  at  the  thought  of  all 
the  years  he  had  hidden  behind  this  small, 
scared-looking  woman,  who  had  had  no 
place  to  hide  from  a  ridiculous  but  pursuing 
suspicion. 

When  he  got  back  to  Philadelphia  and  told 
his  wife  about  the  boy,  he  said,  "Some  of 
those  old  cats  in  Old  Chester  actually 
thought  he  was — her  own  child." 

"What!" 

"Fools.  But,  Mary,  she  never  betrayed 
us — that  little  old  woman!  She  never  told 
the  truth." 

"She  never  knew  it  was  said." 

"God  knows,  I  hope  she  didn't.  .  .  .  We 
ought  to  have  kept  him." 

"Carl!  You  know  we  couldn't ;  it  would 
have  been  impossible!" 

"Well,  we  cared  more  for  our  reputations 
than  for  our — son,"  he  said. 

For  a  moment  that  poignant  word  startled 
Mary  into  silence;  then  she  said,  breath  - 

66 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

lessly:  "But,  Carl,  that  isn't  common  sense! 
What  about  —  the  boy  himself?  Would  it 
have  been  a  good  thing  for  him  that  people 
should  know?" 

"It  might  have  been  a  good  thing  for  us," 
he  said;  "and  it  couldn't  be  any  worse  for 
him  than  it  is.  Everybody  thinks  he's  il 
legitimate."  He  paused,  and  then  he  said  a 
really  profound  thing — for  a  fat,  selfish  man. 
}"Mary,  I  believe  there  isn't  any  real  welfare 
that's  built  on  a  lie.  \  If  it  was  to  do  over 
again  I'd  stand  up  to  my  own  cussed  folly." 

"You  don't  seem  to  consider  me!"  she 
said,  bitterly. 

But  he  only  said,  slowly,  "He's  the  finest 
little  chap  you  ever  saw." 

"Pretty?"  she  said,  forgetting  her  bitter 
ness. 

"Oh,  he's  a  boy,  a  real  boy.  Freckled. 
And  when  he's  mad  he  shows  his  teeth,  just 
as  your  father  used  to ;  I  saw  him  in  a  fight. 
No;  of  course  he's  not  'pretty/' 

"I'd  like  to  see  him — if  I  wasn't  afraid  to," 
she  said.  She  was  thirty-four  now,  a  sad, 
idle,  rich  woman,  with  only  three  interests 
in  life:  eating  and  shopping  and  keeping  the 
Secret  which  made  her  cringe  whenever  she 
thought  of  it,  which,  since  the  night  she  heard 

67 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Johnny  laugh,  was  pretty  much  all  the  time. 
It  was  the  shopping  interest  that  by  and  by 
united  with  the  interest  of  the  Secret;  it 
occurred  to  her  that  she  might  give  "him" 
something.  She  would  buy  him  a  pair  of 
skates!  "But  you  must  send  them  to  him, 
Carl." 

"Why  don't  you  do  it  yourself?" 

"It  would  look  queer.  People  might — 
think." 

"Well,  they  'thought*  about  that  poor 
little  woman." 

"Idiots!  She's  a  hundred  years  old!" 
Mary  said,  jealously. 

"She  wasn't  when  he  was  born,"  her  hus 
band  said,  wearily.  He  probably  loved  his 
wife,  but  since  that  day  when  she  had  flung 
away  the  lure  of  mystery,  her  mind  had 
ceased  to  interest  him.  This  was  cruel  and 
unjust,  but  it  was  male  human  nature. 

"Why  don't  you  get  acquainted  with  the 
youngster?"  Carl  said,  yawning. 

11  Carl!  You  know  it  wouldn't  do.  Be 
sides,  how  could  I?" 

"We  could  take  the  house  ourselves  next 
summer.  There's  some  furniture  in  it  still. 
It  would  come  about  naturally  enough.  And 
he  would  be  at  our  gates." 

68 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Oh  no — no!     Maybe  he  looks  like  me." 

"No,  he  doesn't.  Didn't  I  tell  you  he 
isn't  particularly  good-looking?" 

"Maybe  he  looks  like  you?"  she  objected, 
simply. 

And  he  laughed,  and  said,  "Thank  you, 
my  dear!" 

But  Mary  didn't  laugh.  She  got  up  and 
stood  staring  out  of  the  window  into  the  rainy 
street;  "You  send  him  the  skates,"  she  said; 
"you've  seen  him,  so  it  wouldn't  seem  queer." 

The  skates  were  sent,  and  Johnny's  mother 
was  eager  to  see  Johnny's  smudgy  and 
laborious  letter  acknowledging  "Mr.  Robert 
son's  kind  present." 

"That's  a  very  nice  little  letter!"  she  said; 
"he  must  be  clever,  like  you.  I'll  buy  some 
books  for  him." 

That  was  in  January.  By  April  Johnny 
and  his  books  and  his  multiplication  table 
and  his  freckles  were  almost  constantly  in 
her  mind.  It  was  about  the  middle  of  April 
that  she  said  to  her  husband : 

"If  you  haven't  a  tenant,  I  suppose  we 
might   open    father's   house  for   a    month? 
Perhaps  being  there  would  be  better  than— 
giving  presents?     If  I  saw  him  just  once  I 
shouldn't  want  to  give  him  things." 

69 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"I'm  afraid  you'd  want  to  more  than 
ever,"  he  demurred,  which,  of  course,  made 
her  protest: 

"  Oh  no,  I  shouldn't !    Do  let's  do  it ! " 

"Well,"  he  conceded,  in  triumphant  re 
luctance — for  it  was  what  he  had  wanted 
her  to  say — "if  you  insist.  But  I  don't 
believe  you'll  like  it." 

So  that  was  how  it  happened  that  the 
weatherworn  "For  Sale  or  To  Let"  sign 
was  taken  down,  and  the  rusty  iron  gates 
were  opened,  and  the  weedy  graveled  drive 
way  made  clean  and  tidy  as  it  used  to  be  in 
Johnny's  grandfather's  time.  Johnny  him 
self  was  immensely  interested  in  all  that  went 
on  in  the  way  of  renovation,  and  in  the 
beautiful  horses  that  came  down  before  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Robertson  arrived. 

"Aunty,  they  must  be  pretty  rich,"  he 
said. 

"They  are,"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"I  guess  if  they  had  a  boy  they'd  give  him 
a  pony,"  Johnny  said,  sighing. 

"Very  likely,"  Miss  Lydia  told  him.  And 
she,  too,  watched  the  opening  up  of  the  big 
house  with  her  frightened  blue  eyes. 

"Lydia,  you're  losing  flesh,"  Mrs.  Barkley 
said  in  an  anxious  bass.  Indeed,  all  Old 

70 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Chester  was  anxious  about  Miss  Sampson's 
looks  that  summer.  "  What  is  the  matter?  " 
said  Old  Chester. 

But  Miss  Lydia,  although  she  really  did 
grow  thin,  never  said  what  was  the  matter. 

"I  do  dislike  secretiveness ! "  said  Mrs. 
Drayton;  "I  call  it  vulgar." 

"I  wonder  what  she  calls  curiosity ?"  Doc 
tor  Lavendar  said  when  this  remark  was 
repeated  to  him. 

Miss  Lydia  may  have  been  vulgar,  but  her 
vulgarity  did  not  save  her  from  terror.  When 
Mary  drove  past  the  little  house,  the  Grass 
hopper's  heart  was  in  her  mouth!  Would 
Johnny's  mother  stop? — or  would  Mrs.  Rob 
ertson  go  by?  There  came,  of  course,  the 
inevitable  day  when  the  mother  stopped. 
...  It  was  in  June,  a  day  of  white  clouds 
racing  in  a  blue  sky,  and  tree  tops  bending 
and  swaying  and  locust  blossoms  showering 
on  the  grass.  Johnny  was  engaged  in  trying 
to  lure  his  cat  out  of  a  pear  tree,  into  which 
a  dog  had  chased  her. 

"Stop!"  Mary  Robertson  called  to  the 
coachman;  then,  leaning  forward,  she  tried 
to  speak.  Her  breath  came  with  a  gasp. 
"Are  you  the — the  boy  who  lives  with  Miss 
Sampson?" 

G  71 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Yes'm,"  Johnny  said.  "  Kitty,  Kitty  !ff 
Then  he  called:  "Say,  Aunty!  Let's  try  her 
with  milk!" 

Miss  Lydia,  coming  to  the  door  with  a 
saucer  of  milk,  stood  for  a  paralyzed  mo 
ment,  then  she  said,  "How  do  you  do, 
Mary?" 

"You  haven't  forgotten  me?"  Mrs.  Rob 
ertson  said. 

"Well,  no,"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"Lovely  day,"  Mary  said,  breathing  quick 
ly;  then  she  waved  a  trembling  hand. 
"Good-by!  Go  on,  Charles."  Charles  flicked 
his  whip  and  off  she  rumbled  in  the  very  same 
old  victoria  in  which  her  father  had  rolled 
by  Miss  Lydia's  door  in  the  September  dusk 
some  fifteen  years  before. 

That  night  Johnny's  mother  said  to  her 
husband,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "I — spoke 
to  him." 

He  put  a  kindly  arm  around  her.  "Isn't 
he  as  fine  a  boy  as  you  ever  saw?" 

After  that  Mrs.  Robertson  spoke  to  Johnny 
Smith  frequently  and  Miss  Lydia  continued 
to  lose  flesh.  The  month  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Robertson  were  to  spend  in  Old  Chester 
lengthened  into  two — into  three.  And  while 
they  were  there  wonderful  things  happened 

72 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

to  Johnny  in  the  way  of  presents — a  lathe, 
a  velocipede,  a  little  engine  to  turn  a  wheel 
in  the  run  at  the  foot  of  old  Mr.  Smith's 
pasture.  Also,  he  and  his  aunt  Lydia  were 
invited  to  take  supper  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Robertson.  " We'll  have  to  ask  her''  John 
ny's  mother  had  said  to  Johnny's  father, 
"because  it  would  look  queer  to  have  him 
come  by  himself.  Oh,  Carl,  I  am  beginning 
to  hate  her!" 

"You  mustn't,  dear;  she's  good  to  him." 

"I  want  to  be  good  to  him!" 

However,  Miss  Lydia,  in  her  once-turned 
and  twice-made-over  blue  silk,  came  and  sat 
at  the  big  table  in  the  new  Mr.  Smith's 
dining  room.  She  hardly  spoke,  but  just  sat 
there,  the  vein  on  her  temple  throbbing  with 
fright,  and  listened  to  Johnny's  mother  pour 
ing  herself  out  in  fatuous  but  pathetic  flat 
tery  and  in  promises  of  all  sorts  of  delights. 

"Mary,  my  dear!"  Carl  Robertson  pro 
tested,  but  he  felt  the  pain  of  the  poor, 
child-hungry  woman  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table. 

When  Miss  Lydia  and  Johnny  walked 
home  together  in  the  darkness  her  boy  said : 
"A  fellow'd  be  lucky  with  a  mother  like 
that,  wouldn't  he?  She'd  give  him  every- 

73 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

thing  he  wanted.     She'd  give  him  a  pony," 
Johnny  said,  wistfully. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  faintly. 

"Wish  I  had  a  mother  who'd  gimme  a 
pony,"  Johnny  said,  with  the  brutal  honesty 
of  his  sex  and  years. 

And  Miss  Lydia  said  again,  "Yes." 

"Maybe  Mrs.  Robertson '11  gimme  one," 
Johnny  said,  hopefully ;  "she's  always  giving 
me  things!" 

However,  though  Johnny's  gratitude  con 
sisted  of  a  lively  hope  of  benefits  to  come,  he 
had  some  opinions  of  his  own. 

"She  kisses  me,"  he  said  to  Miss  Lydia, 
wrinkling  up  his  nose.  "I  don't  like  kissing 
ladies." 

Poor  Mary  couldn't  help  kissing  him. 
The  fresh,  honest,  ugly  young  face  had  be 
come  more  wonderful  to  her  than  anything 
else  on  earth !  But  sometimes  she  looked  at 
him  and  then  at  his  father,  and  said  to  her 
self,  "His  eyes  are  not  like  Carl's,  but  his 
mouth  is  as  Carl's  used  to  be  before  he  wore 
a  beard;  but  nobody  would  know  it  now." 

Mr.  Robertson  looked  pleased  when  she 
told  him,  anxiously,  that  "it  was  showing — 
the  likeness.  He  has  your  mouth.  And 
people  might — " 

74 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"I  wish  to  God  I  could  own  him,"  said 
Carl  Robertson. 

"Carl,  he  wants  a  pony!  Buy  one  for 
him." 

But  Johnny  didn't  get  his  pony,  because 
when  Mr.  Robertson  told  Miss  Lydia  he  was 
thinking  of  buying  a  horse  for  his  boy,  she 
said: 

" No;  it  isn't  good  for  him,  please,  to  have 
so  many  things." 

"The  idea  of  her  interfering!"  Mary  told 
her  husband. 


CHAPTER  V 

f 'M  going  to  invite  him  to  visit  us  next 

1  winter, "  Mary  said. 

This  was  at  the  end  of  the  summer,  and 
the  prospect  of  saying  good-by  to  Johnny 
for  almost  a  year  was  more  than  she  could 
bear. 

"My  dear!"  her  husband  protested,  "if 
you  got  him  under  your  own  roof  you 
wouldn't  be  able  to  hold  on  to  yourself! 
I  could,  but  you  couldn't.  You'd  tell  him." 

"I  wouldn't!  Why,  I  couldn't.  Of  course 
he  can  never  know.  .  .  .  But  I'm  going  to  see 
—that  woman,  and  tell  her  that  I  shall  have 
him  visit  us." 

11  She'll  not  permit  it." 

' ' '  Permit ' ! "  Mary  said.  ' '  Upon  my  word ! 
My  own  child  not  *  permitted9!" 

"It's  hard,"  Carl  said,  briefly. 

"You  want  him,  too,"  she  said,  eagerly; 
"I  can  see  you  do!  Think  of  having  him 
with  us  for  a  week!  I  could  go  into  his  room 
and — and  pick  up  his  clothes  when  he  drops 

76 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

them  round  on  the  floor,  the  way  boys  do." 
She  was  breathless  at  the  thought  of  such 
happiness.  "I'll  tell  her  I'm  going  to  have 
him  come  in  the  Christmas  vacation.  Oh, 
Carl" — her  black,  heavy  eyes  suddenly  glit 
tered  with  tears — "I  want  my  baby/'  she 
said. 

The  words  stabbed  him;  for  a  moment  he 
felt  that  there  was  no  price  too  great  to  pay 
for  comfort  for  her.  "We'll  try  it,"  he  said, 
"but  we'll  have  to  handle  Miss  Lydia  just 
right  to  get  her  to  consent  to  it." 

"'Consent'?"  she  said,  fiercely.  "Carl, 
I  just  hate  her!"  The  long-smothered  in 
stinct  of  maternity  leaped  up  and  scorched 
her  like  a  flame;  she  put  her  dimpled  hands 
over  her  face  and  cried. 

He  tried  to  tell  her  that  she  wasn't  just. 
"After  all,  dear,  we  disowned  him.  Natu 
rally,  she  feels  that  he  belongs  to  her." 

But  she  could  not  be  just:  "He  belongs 
to  us!  And  she  prejudices  him  against  us. 
I  know  she  does.  I  said  to  him  yesterday 
that  her  clothes  weren't  very  fashionable.  I 
just  said  it  for  fun;  and  he  said,  'You  shut 
up!'" 

"  What!"  Johnny's  father  said,  amused  and 
horrified. 

77 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

''I  believe  she  likes  him  to  be  rude  to 
me/'  Mary  said. 

Her  jealousy  of  Miss  Lydia  had  taken 
the  form  of  suspicion;  if  Johnny  was  im 
pertinent,  if  that  shabby  Miss  Lydia  meant 
more  to  him  than  she  did — the  rich,  benefi 
cent,  adoring  Mrs.  Robertson! — it  must  be 
because  Miss  Lydia  "  influenced "  him.  It 
was  to  counteract  that  influence  that  she 
planned  the  Christmas  visit;  if  she  could 
have  him  to  herself,  even  for  a  week,  with 
all  the  enjoyments  she  would  give  him,  she 
was  sure  she  could  rout  "that  woman"  from 
her  place  in  his  heart ! 

"I  sha'n't  ask  for  what  is  my  own,"  she 
told  Carl;  "I'll  just  say  I'm  going  to  take 
him  for  the  Christmas  holidays.  She  won't 
dare  to  say  he  can't  come!" 

Yet  when  she  went  to  tell  Miss  Lydia  that 
Johnny  was  coming,  her  certainty  that  the 
shabby  woman  wouldn't  "dare,"  faded. 

Miss  Lydia  was  in  the  kitchen,  making 
cookies  for  her  boy,  and  she  could  not  in 
stantly  leave  her  rolling-pin  when  his  mother 
knocked  at  the  front  door.  Mary  had  not 
been  at  that  door  since  the  September  night 
when  she  had  crouched,  sobbing,  on  the 
steps.  And  now  again  it  was  September, 

78 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

and  again  the  evening  primroses  were  open 
ing  in  the  dusk.  ...  As  she  knocked,  a 
breath  of  their  subtle  perfume  brought  back 
that  other  dusk,  and  for  an  instant  she  was 
engulfed  in  a  surge  of  memory.  She  felt 
faint  and  leaned  against  the  door,  waiting 
for  Miss  Lydia's  little  running  step  in  the 
hall.  She  could  hardly  speak  when  the  door 
opened.  "Good — good  evening/*  she  said, 
in  a  whisper. 

Miss  Lydia,  her  frightened  eyes  peering  at 
her  caller  from  under  that  black  frizette, 
could  hardly  speak  herself.  Mary  was  the 
one  to  get  herself  in  hand  first.  "May  I 
come  in,  Miss  Sampson?'* 

"Why,  yes—  '  said  Miss  Lydia,  doubt 
fully,  and  dusted  her  floury  hands  together. 

"I  came  to  say,"  Mary  began,  following 
her  back  to  the  kitchen,  "I  came — " 

"I'm  making  cookies  for  Johnny,"  Miss 
Lydia  said,  briskly,  and  Mary's  soft  hands 
clenched.  Why  shouldn't  she  be  making 
cookies  for  Johnny ! 

"I've  got  a  pan  in  the  oven,"  said  Miss 
Lydia,  "and  I've  got  to  watch  'em." 

Mary  was  silent;  she  sat  down  by  the 
table,  her  breath  catching  in  her  throat. 
Miss  Lydia  did  not,  apparently,  notice  the 

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AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

agitation;  she  bustled  about  and  brought 
her  a  cooky  on  a  cracked  plate — and  watched 
her. 

"I  want — "  Mary  said,  in  a  trembling 
voice,  and  crumbling  the  cooky  with  nervous 
fingers — "I  mean,  I  am  going  to  have 
Johnny  visit  me  this  winter." 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  and  sat  down. 

"I'll  have  him  during  the  holidays." 

"No." 

"Why  not?"  Mary  said,  angrily. 

"He'd  guess." 

"You  needn't  be  afraid  of  that!" 

Miss  Lydia  silently  shook  her  head;  in 
stantly  Mary's  anger  turned  to  fright. 

"Oh,  Miss  Lydia — please!  I  promise  you 
he  shall  never  have  the  dimmest  idea — why, 
he  couldn't  have!  It  wouldn't  do,  you  know. 
But  I  want  him  just  to — to  look  at." 

Miss  Lydia  was  pale.  She  may  have 
been  a  born  gambler,  but  never  had  she  taken 
such  a  chance  as  this — to  give  Johnny  back, 
even  for  a  week,  to  the  people  who  once  had 
thrown  him  away,  but  who  now  were  ready 
to  do  everything  for  him,  give  him  anything 
he  wanted! — and  a  boy  wants  so  many 
things!  "No,"  she  said,  "no." 

Mary  gave  a  starved  cry,  then  dropped  on 
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AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

her   knees,    clutched   at   the   small,   rough, 
floury  hand  and  tried  to  kiss  it. 

" A  mother  has  a  claim,"  she  said,  pas 
sionately. 

Miss  Lydia,  pulling  her  hand  away,  nod 
ded.  "Yes,  a  mother  has." 

" Then  let  him  come.     Oh,  let  him  come! " 

" Are  you  his  mother?'9 

Mary  fell  back,  half  sitting  on  the  floor, 
half  kneeling  at  Miss  Lydia's  feet.  "What 
do  you  mean?  You  know — " 

"Sometimes,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  "I  think 
Tm  his  mother." 

Mary  started.  "She's  crazy ! "  she  thought, 
scared. 

"He  is  mine,"  Miss  Lydia  said,  proudly; 
"some  foolish  people  have  even  thought  he 
was  mine  in — in  your  way." 

"Absurd!"  Mary  said,  with  a  gasp. 

"You  have  never  understood  love,  Mary," 
Miss  Lydia  said;  "never,  from  the  very 
beginning."  And  even  as  Johnny's  mother 
recoiled  at  that  sword-thrust,  she  added,  her 
face  very  white:  "But  I'll  chance  it.  Yest 
if  he  wants  to  visit  you  I'll  let  him.  But 
I  hope  you  won't  hurt  him." 

"Hurt  him?  Hurt  my  own  child?  He 
shall  have  everything!" 

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AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"That's  what  I  mean.  It  may  hurt  him. 
He  may  get  to  be  like  you,"  Miss  Lydia 
said  .  .  .  "Oh,  my  cookies!  They  are  burn 
ing!"  She  pushed  Johnny's  mother  aside — 
she  wanted  to  push  her  over!  to  trample 
on  her !  to  tear  her !  But  she  only  pressed  her 
gently  aside  and  ran  and  opened  the  oven 
door,  and  then  said,  "Oh  my!"  and  raised  a 
window  to  let  the  smoke  out.  .  .  .  "  I'll  let  him 
go,"  she  said.  But  when  Mary  tried  to  put 
her  arms  around  her,  and  say  brokenly 
how  grateful  she  was,  Miss  Lydia  shrank 
away  and  said,  harshly,  "Don't!" 

"I  couldn't  bear  to  have  her  touch  me," 
she  told  herself  afterward;  "she  didn't  love 
him  when  he  was  a  baby." 

However,  it  was  arranged,  and  the  visit 
was  made.  It  was  a  great  experience  for 
Johnny!  The  stage  to  Mercer,  the  railroad 
journey  across  the  mountains,  the  handsome 
house,  the  good  times  every  minute  of  every 
day!  Barnum's!  Candy  shops!  New  clothes 
(and  old  ones  dropped  about  on  the  floor 
for  Mrs.  Robertson  to  pick  up!)  And  five 
five-dollar  bills  to  carry  back  to  Old  Chester! 
Then  the  week  ended.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Robertson, 
running  to  bring  him  his  hat  and  make  sure 
he  had  a  clean  handkerchief,  and  patting 

82 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

the  collar  of  his  coat  with  plump  fingers, 
cried  when  she  said  good-by;  and  Johnny 
sighed,  and  said  he  had  a  stomache  ache,  and 
he  hated  to  go  home.  His  mother  glanced 
triumphantly  at  his  father. 

"  (Do  you  hear  that?)  Do  you  love  me, 
Johnny ?"  she  demanded. 

"Yes'm,"  Johnny  said,  scowling. 

"As  much  as  Miss  Lydia?" 

Johnny  stared  at  her.     "Course  not." 

"She  doesn't  give  you  so  many  presents 
as  I  do." 

"  Mary!"  Johnny 's  father  protested. 

But  Johnny  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"I'd  just  as  leaves,"  said  he,  "give  you 
one  of  my  five  dollars  to  pay  for  'em" — 
which  made  even  his  mother  laugh.  "Goo'- 
by,"  said  Johnny.  "I  guess  I've  eaten  too 
much.  I've  had  a  fine  time.  Much  obliged. 
No,  I  do'  want  any  more  candy.  O-o-o-h!" 
said  Johnny,  "I  wish  I  hadn't  eaten  so  much! 
I  hate  going  home." 

But  he  went — bearing  his  sheaves  with 
him,  his  presents  and  his  five  five-dollar 
bills  and  his  stomach  ache.  And  he  said  he 
wished  he  could  go  right  straight  back  to 
Philadelphia! 

"Do  you?"  said  Miss  Lydia,  faintly. 
83 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"But  she's — funny,  Aunt  Lydia." 

"How 'funny?" 

"Well,"  said  Johnny,  scrubbing  the  back 
of  his  hand  across  his  cheeks,  "she's  always 
kissing  me  and  talking  about  my  liking  her. 
Oh — I  don't  really  mind  her,  much.  She's 
nice  enough.  But  I  don't  like  kissing  ladies. 
But  I  like  visiting  her,"  he  added,  candidly; 
"she  takes  me  to  lots  of  places  and  gives  me 
things.  I  like  presents,"  said  Johnny.  "I 
hope  she'll  gimme  a  gun."  .  .  . 

That  night,  the  kissing  lady,  pacing  up 
and  down  like  a  caged  creature  in  her  hand 
some  parlor,  which  seemed  so  empty  and 
orderly  now,  said  suddenly  to  her  husband, 
''Why  don't  we  adopt  him?" 

"H-s-s-h!"  he  cautioned  her;  then,  in  a 
low  voice,  "I've  thought  of  that." 

At  which  she  instantly  retreated.  "It  is 
out  of  the  question!  People  would — think." 


CHAPTER  VI 

JOHNNY  would  have  had  his  gun  right  off, 
J  and  many  other  things,  too,  if  Miss  Lydia 
hadn't  interfered.  "  Please  don't  send  him 
so  many  presents,"  she  wrote  Mrs.  Robert 
son  in  her  scared,  determined  way.  And 
Mary,  reading  that  letter,  fed  her  bitterness 
with  the  memory  of  something  which  had 
happened  during  the  visit. 

"It's  just  what  I  said,"  she  told  Johnny's 
father;  "she  influences  him  against  us  by 
not  letting  us  give  him  presents!  I  know 
that  from  the  way  he  talks.  I  told  him, 
after  I  bought  the  stereopticon  for  him,  that 
I  could  give  him  nicer  things  than  she  could, 
and—" 

"Mary!  You  mustn't  say  things  like 
that!" 

"And — and — "  Mary  said,  crying,  "he 
said,  'I  like  Aunty  without  any  presents.' 
You  see?  Influence!  The  idea  of  her  dar 
ing  to  say  we  mustn't  give  him  a  gun.  He's 
aursl" 

85 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"No,  he's  hers,"  Johnny's  father  said, 
sadly;  "she  has  the  whip  hand,  Mary — 
unless  we  tell  the  truth/1 

"Of  course  we  can't  do  that/'  she  said, 
sobbing. 

But  after  that  Philadelphia  experience 
Miss  Lydia — a  fragile  creature  now,  who 
lived  and  breathed  for  her  boy — was  obliged 
every  winter  to  let  Johnny  visit  these  people 
who  had  disowned  him,  cast  him  off,  de 
serted  him! — that  was  the  way  she  put  it  to 
herself.  She  had  to  let  him  go  because  she 
couldn't  think  of  any  excuse  for  saying  he 
couldn't  go.  She  even  asked  Doctor  Laven- 
dar  for  a  reason  for  refusing  invitations, 
which  the  appreciative  and  frankly  acquisi 
tive  Johnny  was  anxious  to  accept.  With  a 
present  of  a  bunch  of  lamplighters  in  her 
hand  she  went  to  the  rectory,  offering,  as 
an  explanation  of  her  call,  the  fact  that 
Johnny  had  got  into  a  fight  with  the  young 
est  Mack  boy  and  rubbed  his  nose  in  the 
gutter,  and  Mrs.  Mack  was  very  angry,  and 
said  her  boy's  nose  would  never  be  handsome 
again;  and  she,  Miss  Lydia,  didn't  know 
what  to  do  because  Johnny  wouldn't  tell 
her  what  the  fight  was  about  and  wouldn't 
apologize. 

86 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Johnny's  fifteen  and  the  Mack  boy  is 
seventeen;  and  a  boy  doesn't  need  a  hand 
some  nose,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar.  "I'd 
not  interfere,  if  I  were  you." 

Then  she  got  the  real  question  out :  Didn't 
Doctor  Lavendar  think  it  might  be  bad  for 
Johnny  to  visit  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robertson? 
"They're  very  rich,  you  know,"  Miss  Lydia 
warned  him,  piteously. 

"They've  taken  a  fancy  to  him,  have 
they?  "  Doctor  Lavendar  asked.  She  nodded. 
The  old  man  meditated.  "Lydia,"  he  said 
at  last,  "you  are  so  rich,  and  they're  so  poor, 
I'd  be  charitable,  if  I  were  you." 

So  she  was  charitable.  And  for  the  next 
three  or  four  years  Johnny  went  away  for 
his  good  times,  and  old  Miss  Lydia  stayed  at 
home  and  had  very  bad  times  for  fear  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robertson  might  suddenly 
turn  into  Johnny's  father  and  mother !  Then 
the  father  and  mother  would  come  to  Old 
Chester  in  the  summer  and  have  their  bad 
times,  for  fear  that  Miss  Lydia  would  "in 
fluence"  Johnny  against  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Robertson.  (We  got  to  quite  like  the  Rob 
ertsons,  though  we  didn't  see  much  of  them. 
"Pity  they  had  no  children,"  said  Old  Ches 
ter  ;  "all  that  Smith  money  going  begging ! ") 

7  87 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

The  Smith  money  certainly  went  begging, 
so  far  as  Johnny  was  concerned.  Every 
time  his  father  and  mother  tried  to  spend  it 
on  him  Miss  Lydia  put  her  little  frightened 
will  between  the  boy  and  his  grandfather's 
fortune.  "Boys  can't  accept  presents,  John 
ny,  except  from  relations,  you  know,"  she 
would  tell  him;  "it  isn't  nice."  And  Johnny, 
thinking  of  the  gun  or  the  pony  or  what  not, 
would  stick  out  his  lips  and  sigh  and  say  no, 
he  "s'posed  not."  As  a  result  of  such  re 
marks  he  developed  as  healthy  a  pride  as 
one  could  hope  for  in  a  lad,  and  by  the  time 
he  was  eighteen  he  was  hot  with  embarrass 
ment  when  Mrs.  Robertson  tried  to  force 
things  upon  him. 

"No,  ma'am,"  he  would  say,  awkwardly. 
"I — I  can't  take  any  presents." 

"Why  not?"  she  would  demand,  deeply 
hurt. 

"Well,  you  know,  you  are  not  a  relation," 
Johnny  would  say;  and  his  mother  would 
rush  up  to  her  room  and  pace  up  and  down, 
up  and  down,  and  cry  until  she  could  hardly 
see. 

"She's  robbed  us  of  our  own  child!"  she 
used  to  tell  her  husband. 

As  for  Johnny,  he  told  Miss  Lydia  once 
88 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

that  Mrs.  Robertson  was  kind,  and  all  that, 
but  she  was  a  nuisance. 

"Oh,  Johnny,  I  wouldn't  say  that,  dear. 
She's  been  nice  to  you." 

"What  makes  her?"  said  Johnny,  curi 
ously.  "Why  is  she  always  gushing  round? " 

"Well,  she  likes  you,  Johnny." 

Johnny  grinned.  "I  don't  see  why.  I'm 
afraid  I'm  not  awfully  polite  to  her.  She  was 
telling  me  she'd  give  me  anything  on  earth 
I  wanted;  made  me  feel  like  a  fool!"  said 
Johnny,  "and  I  said, '  Aunty  gives  me  every 
thing  I  want,  thank  you';  and  she  said, 
'She  doesn't  love  you  as  much  as  I  do.' 
And  I  said  (all  this  love  talk  makes  me  kind 
of  sick!)  I  said,  'Oh  yes,  she  does;  she  loved 
me  when  I  was  a  squealing  baby!  You 
didn't  know  me  then.' ' 

"What  did  she  say?"  Miss  Lydia  asked, 
breathlessly. 

"Oh,  she  sort  of  cried,"  said  Johnny,  with 
a  bored  look. 

But  his  perplexity  about  Mrs.  Robertson's 
gush  lingered  in  his  mind,  and  a  year  or  two 
later,  on  his  twentieth  birthday,  as  it  hap 
pened,  he  asked  Miss  Lydia  again  what  on 
earth  it  meant?  .  .  .  The  Robertsons  had 
braved  the  raw  Old  Chester  winter  and  come 

89 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

down  to  the  old  house  to  be  near  their  son 
on  that  day.  They  came  like  the  Greeks, 
bearing  gifts,  which,  it  being  Johnny's  birth 
day,  they  knew  could  not  be  refused — and 
old  Miss  Lydia,  unlike  the  priest  of  Apollo, 
had  no  spear  to  thrust  at  them  except  the 
forbidden  spear  of  Truth!  So  her  heart  was 
in  her  mouth  when  Johnny,  who  had  gone  to 
supper  with  his  father  and  mother,  came 
home  at  nearly  midnight  and  told  her  how 
good  they  were  to  him.  But  he  was  pre 
occupied  as  he  talked,  and  once  or  twice  he 
frowned.  Then  suddenly  he  burst  out: 

"Aunty,  why  does  Mr.  Robertson  bother 
about  me?" 

"Does  he?'*  Miss  Lydia  said. 

"Well,  yes;  he  says  he  wants  me  to  go 
into  his  firm  when  I  leave  college.  He  says 
he'll  give  me  mighty  good  pay.  But — but 
he  wants  me  to  take  his  name." 

"Oh!"  said  Miss  Lydia.  She  looked  so 
little  and  pretty,  lying  there  in  her  bed, 
with  her  soft  white  hair — the  frizette  had 
vanished  some  years  ago — parted  over  her 
delicate  furrowed  brow,  and  her  blue  eyes 
wide  and  frightened,  like  a  child's,  that 
Johnny  suddenly  hugged  her. 

"As  for  the  name  part  of  it,"  he  said,  "I 
90 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

said  my  name  was  Smith.  Not  handsome  or 
distinguished,  but  my  own.  I  said  I  had  no 
desire  to  change  it,  but  if  I  ever  did  it  would 
be  to  Sampson." 

A  meager  tear  stood  in  the  corner  of  Miss 
Lydia's  eye.  "That  was  very  nice  of  you, 
Johnny,"  she  said,  quaveringly. 

"I'd  like  the  business  part  of  it  all  right," 
said  Johnny.  .  .  .  "Say,  Aunt  Lydia — what 
is  all  the  milk  in  the  coconut  about  me? 
Course  I'm  not  grown  up  for  nothing;  I 
know  I'm — queer.  I  got  on  to  that  when  I  was 
fifteen — I  put  the  date  on  Eddy  Mack's  nose! 
But  I'd  like  to  know,  really,  who  I  am?" 

"You're  my  boy,"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"You  bet  I  am!"  said  Johnny;  "but  who 
were  my  father  and  mother?" 

"They  lived  out  West,  and—" 

"I  know  all  that  fairy  tale,  Aunty.  Let's 
have  the  facts." 

Miss  Lydia  was  silent;  her  poor  old  eyes 
blinked;  then  she  said:  "They — deserted 
you,  Johnny.  But  you  mustn't  mind." 

The  young  man's  face  reddened  sharply. 
"They  weren't  married,  I  suppose,  when  I 
was  born?"  he  said,  in  a  husky  voice. 

'They — got  married  before  you  were 
born."  ' 

91 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

He  frowned,  but  he  was  obviously  re 
lieved;  then  he  looked  puzzled.  "Yet  they 
deserted  me?  Were  they  too  poor  to  take 
care  of  me?" 

"Well,  no,"  Miss  Lydia  confessed. 

"Not  poor,  yet  they  dumped  me  onto 
your  doorstep  ?"  he  repeated,  bewildered, 
but  with  a  slow  anger  growing  in  his  face. 
"Well,  I  guess  I'm  well  rid  of  'em  if  they  were 
that  kind  of  people!  Cowards.  I'd  rather 
have  murderers  'round,  than  cowards! " 

"Oh,  my  dear,  you  mustn't  be  unjust. 
They  gave  me  money  for  your  support." 

"Money!"  he  said.  "They  paid  you  to 
take  me  off  their  hands?"  He  paused; 
"Aunt  Lydia,"  he  said — and  as  he  spoke  his 
upper  lip  lifted  and  she  saw  his  teeth — 
"Aunt  Lydia,  I'll  never  ask  you  about  them 
again.  I  have  no  interest  in  them.  They 
are  nothing  to  me,  just  as  I  was  nothing  to 
them.  But  tell  me  one  thing,  is  Smith  my 
name?" 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Lydia  (it's  his  middle 
name,  she  assured  herself  truthfully). 

But  Johnny  laughed:  "I  guess  you  just 
called  me  Smith.  Well,  that's  all  right, 
though  I'd  rather  you'd  made  it  Sampson. 
But  Smith  will  do.  I  said  so  to  Mrs.  Robert- 

92 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

son.  I  said  that  my  name  was  the  same  as 
her  father's,  and  I  thought  he  was  the  finest 
old  man  I'd  ever  known,  and,  though  I  was 
no  relation,  I  hoped  my  Smith  name  would 
be  as  dignified  as  his." 

"What  did  she  say?"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"Oh,  she  got  weepy,"  said  Johnny,  good- 
naturedly;  "she's  always  either  crying  or 
kissing.  But  she's  kind.  Look  at  those!" 
he  said,  displaying  some  sleeve  links  that  his 
mother's  soft,  adoring  fingers  had  fastened 
into  his  cuffs.  "Well,  I  don't  take  a  berth 
with  a  new  name  tacked  on  to  it,  at  Robert 
son  &  Carey's.  He'll  have  to  get  some 
other  fellow  to  swap  names  for  him!" 

He  went  off  to  his  room,  his  face  still  dark 
with  the  deep,  elemental  anger  which  that 
word  "deserted"  had  stirred  in  him,  but 
whistling  as  if  to  declare  his  entire  indifference 
to  the  deserters.  Old  Miss  Lydia,  alone, 
trembled  very  much.  "Take  their  name! 
What  will  they  do  next?11  she  said  to  herself. 

The  Robertsons  were  asking  each  other 
the  same  question,  "What  can  we  do  now 
to  get  him?"  The  lure  of  a  business  oppor 
tunity  had  not  moved  the  boy  at  all,  and 
what  he  had  said  about  being  called  Sampson 
had  been  like  a  knife-thrust  in  their  hearts. 

93 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

It  made  Mary  Robertson  so  angry  that  she 
sprang  at  a  fierce  retaliation:  "She  couldn't 
keep  him — he  wouldn't  stay  with  her — if  we 
told  him  the  truth !"  she  said  to  Johnny's 
father. 

"But  we  never  can  tell  him,"  Carl  re 
minded  her. 

"Sometimes  I  think  she'll  drive  me  to  it!" 
said  Mary. 

"No,"  Robertson  said,  shortly. 

"No  one  would  know  it  but  the  boy  him 
self.  And  if  he  knew  it  he'd  let  us  adopt 
him.  And  that  would  mean  taking  his  own 


name." 


"No!"  Carl  broke  out,  "it  won't  do!  You 
see,  I — don't  want  him  to  know."  He 
paused,  then  seemed  to  pull  the  words  out 
with  a  jerk:  "I  won't  let  him  have  any  dis 
respect  for  his  mother,  and — "  He  got  up 
and  tramped  about  the  room.  "Damn  it! 
I  don't  want  to  lose  his  good  opinion, 
myself." 

Her  face  turned  darkly  red.  "Oh,"  she 
cried,  passionately,  "'opinion'!  What  dif 
ference  does  his  'opinion'  make  to  me?  A 
mother  is  a  mother.  And  I  love  him!  Oh, 
I  love  him  so,  I  could  just  die!  If  he  would 
put  his  arms  around  me  the  way  he  does  to 

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AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

that  terrible  Miss  Lydia,  and  kiss  me,  and 
say" — she  clenched  her  hands  and  closed 
her  eyes,  and  whispered  the  word  she  hun 
gered  to  hear — '"Mother!  Mother!'  If  I 
could  hear  him  say  that,1'  she  said,  "I  could 
just  lie  down  and  die!  Couldn't  you? — to 
hear  him  say  'Father'?" 

Robertson  set  his  teeth.  "And  what  kind 
of  an  idea  would  he  have  of  his  'father'? 
No,  I  won't  consent  to  it!" 

"  We  can't  get  him  in  any  other  way,"  she 
urged. 

"Then  we'll  never  get  him.  I  can't  face 
it." 

"You  don't  love  him  as  much  as  I  do!" 

"I  love  him  enough  not  to  want  to  risk 
losing  his  respect." 

But  this  sentiment  was  beyond  Johnny's 
mother;  all  she  thought  of  was  her  aching 
hunger  for  the  careless,  good-humored,  but 
bored  young  man.  The  hunger  for  him  grew 
and  grew;  it  gnawed  at  her  day  and  night. 
She  urged  Carl  to  take  a  house  in  Princeton 
while  Johnny  was  in  college,  and  only 
Johnny's  father's  common  sense  kept  this 
project  from  being  carried  out.  "You're 
afraid!"  she  taunted  him. 

"Dear,"  he  said,  kindly,  "I'm  afraid  of 
95 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

being  an  ass.  If  he  saw  us  tagging  after 
him  he'd  hate  us  both.  He's  a  man!" 
Carl  said,  proudly.  "No,  I've  no  fancy  for 
losing  the  regard  of" — he  paused — "my 
son,"  he  said,  very  quietly. 

His  wife  put  her  hand  over  her  mouth  and 
stared  at  him;  the  word  was  too  great  for 
her;  it  was  her  baby  she  thought  of,  not  her 
son. 

In  Johnny's  first  vacation,  when  she  had 
rushed  to  Old  Chester  in  June  to  open  the 
house,  she  was  met  by  the  information  that 
he  was  going  off  for  the  summer  on  a  geolog 
ical  expedition. 

Mary's  disappointment  made  her  feel  a 
little  sick.  "What  shall  I  do  without  you!" 

"Oh,  if  Aunty  can  do  without  me,  I  guess 
outsiders  can,"  said  Johnny,  with  clumsy 
amiability. 

"We'll  be  here  when  you  get  back  in 
September,"  she  said. 

He  yawned,  and  said,  "All  right."  Then 
he  strolled  off,  and  she  went  upstairs  and 
cried. 

Johnny,  walking  home  after  this  embar 
rassing  interview,  striking  at  the  roadside 
brambles  with  a  switch  and  whistling  loudly, 
said  to  himself:  "How  on  earth  did  Mr. 

96 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Robertson  fall  in  love  with  her?  He's  got 
brains."  A  day  or  two  later  he  went  off  for 
his  geological  summer,  leaving  in  his  mother's 
heart  that  rankling  word,  "  outsiders."  As 
the  weeks  dragged  along  and  she  counted  the 
days  until  he  would  be  back,  she  brooded 
and  brooded  over  it.  It  festered  so  deeply 
that  she  could  not  speak  of  it  to  Johnny's 
father.  But  once  she  said:  "He's  ungrate 
ful!  See  all  we've  done  for  him!"— and 
Carl  realized  that  bitterness  toward  Miss 
Lydia,  who  had  "robbed"  her,  was  extend 
ing  to  the  boy  himself.  And  again — it  was 
in  August,  and  Johnny  was  to  be  at  home  in 
a  fortnight — she  said,  "He  ought  to  be  made 
to  come  to  us!" 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 
"You  can't  'make'  anybody  love  you, 
Mary.  We  are  just  outsiders  to  him." 

She  cried  out  so  sharply  that  he  was 
frightened,  not  knowing  that  he  had  turned 
a  dagger- word  in  the  wound. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  intolerable  pain  of 
knowing  that  she  was  helpless  that  drove  her 
one  day,  without  Carl's  knowledge,  to  the 
rectory.  "I'll  put  it  to  Doctor  Lavendar  as 
• — as  somebody  else's  story — the  trouble  of  a 
'friend,'  and  maybe  he  can  tell  me  how  I 

97 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

can  make  Johnny  feel  that  we  are  not  out 
siders!  Oh,  he  owes  it  to  us  to  do  what  we 
want!  I'll  tell  Doctor  Lavendar  that  the 
father  and  mother  lived  out  West  and  are 
friends  of  mine.  .  .  .  He'll  never  put  two  and 
two  together." 

She  walked  past  the  rectory  twice  before 
she  could  get  her  courage  to  the  point  of 
knocking.  When  she  did,  it  was  Willy  King 
who  opened  the  door. 

"Oh — is  Doctor  Lavendar  ill?"  she  said. 
And  Doctor  King  answered,  dryly,  that  when 
you  are  eighty-two  you  are  not  particularly 
well. 

11 1  thought  I'd  just  drop  in  and  ask  his 
advice  on  something — nothing  important," 
said  Johnny's  mother,  breathlessly.  "I'll  go 
away,  and  come  some  other  time." 

Upon  which,  from  the  open  window  over 
head,  came  a  voice:  "I  won't  be  wrapped 
up  in  cotton  batting!  Send  Mary  Robert 
son  upstairs." 

"Haven't  I  any  rights? "  Willy  called  back, 
good-naturedly,  and  Doctor  Lavendar  re 
torted  : 

"Maybe  you  have,  but  I  have  many 
wrongs.  Come  along,  Mary." 

She  went  up,  saying  to  herself:  "I'll  not 
98 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

speak  of  it.  I'll  just  say  I've  come  to  see 
him."  She  was  so  nervous  when  she  entered 
the  room  that  her  breath  caught  in  her 
throat  and  she  could  hardly  say,  "  How  do 
you  do?" 

The  old  man  was  in  bed  with  a  copy  of 
Robinson  Crusoe  on  the  table  beside  him. 
He  held  out  a  veined  and  trembling  hand : 

"  William's  keeping  me  alive  so  he  can 
charge  me  for  two  calls  a  day.  Well,  my 
dear,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

Mrs.  Robertson  sat  down  in  a  big  armchair 
and  said,  panting,  that — that  it  was  terribly 
hot. 

Doctor  Lavendar  watched  her  from  under 
his  heavy,  drooping  eyelids. 

"There  was  something  I  was  going  to  ask 
you  about,"  she  said,  "but  it's  no  matter. 
Doctor  King  says  you  are  sick." 

"Don't  believe  all  Doctor  King  tells  you." 

"I  just  wanted  to  get  advice  for — for 
somebody  else.  But  it's  no  matter." 

"  Let's  hear  about  the  '  somebody  else.' ' 

"They  are  not  Old  Chester  people — so  you 
won't  mind  if  I  don't  name  names?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar, 
genially.  "Call  'em  Smith;  that's  a  some 
what  general  title." 

99 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Oh — no,  that's  not  their  name/'  she  said, 
panic-stricken — then  saw  that  he  had  meant 
it  as  a  joke,  and  said,  trying  to  smile,  yes, 
there  were  a  good  many  Smiths  in  the  world ! 
Then  suddenly  her  misery  rose  like  a  wave, 
and  swept  her  into  words:  "These  people 
are  terribly  unhappy,  at  least  the  mother  is, 
because — "  She  paused,  stammered,  felt 
she  had  gone  too  far,  and  stumbled  into  con 
tradictions  which  could  not  have  misled 
anyone,  certainly  not  Doctor  Lavendar. 
"They,  these  people,  had  let  their  child  be 
adopted — oh,  a  great  many  years  ago,  be 
cause  they — they  were  not  so  situated  that 
they  could  bring  him — it — up.  But  they 
could,  now.  And  they  wanted  him,  they 
wanted  him — her,  I  mean,"  said  Mary;  "I 
believe  it  was  a  little  girl.  But  the  little  girl 
didn't  want  to  come  back  to  them.  And 
the  person  who  had  taken  her  influenced 
her  against  her  parents,  who  had  done  every 
thing  for  her! — given  her  everything  a  child 
could  want.  It's  cruel,"  said  Mary.  "  Cruel ! 
I  know  the  parents,  and — " 

"Mary,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar,  gently, 
"so  do  I." 

She  recoiled  as  if  from  a  blow.  "No — oh 
no!  You  are  mistaken,  sir.  You  couldn't 

100 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

know  them.  His — his  relatives  don't  live 
here.  They  live  in  another  city.  You 
couldn't  possibly  know  them!" 

She  was  white  with  terror.  What  would 
Carl  say?  Oh,  she  must  lie  her  way  out  of  it ! 
How  mad  she  had  been  to  come  here  and 
hint  at  things! 

11 1  have  known  Johnny  Smith's  parentage 
for  several  years,  Mary." 

"I  didn't  say  the  child  was  Johnny 
Smith!" 

"/said  so." 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about! 
The  father  and  mother  lived  out  West,  but 
/  don't  know  the  child.  He  is  nothing  to 


me." 


"I  wonder,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar,  half  to 
himself, ! l  do  we  all  deny  love  thrice ?r—f or  you 
do  love  him,  Mary, my  dear ;  I  know  you  do." 

She  tried,  in  panic  denial,  to  meet  his  quiet 
eyes — then  gave  a  little  moan  and  bent  over 
and  hid  her  face  on  her  knees. 

"Oh,  I  do  love  him — I  do,"  she  said  in  a 
whisper.  "But  he  doesn't  love  me.  .  .  . 
And  yet  he  is  mine — Carl' s  and  mine. ' '  Then 
anger  flared  up  again :  * l  Who  told  you?  Oh, 
it  was  Miss  Lydia,  and  she  promised  she 
wouldn't!  How  wicked  in  her!" 

101 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

11  No  one  told  me."  There  was  a  mo 
ment's  silence,  then  Doctor  Lavendar  said, 
"There  were  people  in  Old  Chester  who 
thought  he  was  Miss  Lydia's." 

"Fools!  fools!"  she  said,  passionately. 

"No  one  came  forward  to  deny  it." 

She  did  not  notice  this ;  the  flood  of  despair 
and  longing  broke  into  entreaty;  how  could 
she  get  her  child — her  own  child — who  con 
sidered  her  just  an  outsider!  "That's  Miss 
Lydia's  influence!"  she  said. 

Doctor  Lavendar  listened,  asked  a  question 
or  two,  and  then  was  silent. 

"I  am  dying  for  him!"  she  said;  "oh,  I 
am  in  agony  for  him!" 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  with  pitying 
keenness.  Was  this  agony  a  spiritual  birth 
or  was  it  just  the  old  selfishness  which  had 
never  brooked  denial?  And  if  indeed  it  was 
a  travail  of  the  spirit,  would  not  the  soul  be 
stillborn  if  her  son's  love  should  fail  to  sus 
tain  it?  /  Yet  why  should  Johnny  love  her? 
.  .  .  Mary  was  talking  and  trying  not  to  cry; 
her  words  were  a  fury  of  pain  and  protest: 

"Miss  Lydia  won't  give  him  up  to  people 
who  haven't  any  claim  upon  him, — I  mean 
any  claim  that  is  known.  Of  course  we 
have  a  claim — the  greatest!  But  Johnny 

IO2 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

doesn't  know,  so  he  won't  consent  to  take  our 
name — though  it  is  our  right!  He  doesn't 
know  any  reason  for  it.  You  see?  " 

"I  see." 

"I  suppose  if  we  told  him  the  truth  we 
could  get  him.  But  I'm  afraid  to  tell 
him.  Yet  without  telling  him  I  can't  make 
him  love  me!  He  said  I  was  an  'outsider.' 
//  his  mother!  But  if  he  knew  there  was  a 
reason — " 

Doctor  Lavendar  looked  out  of  the  win 
dow  into  the  yellowing  leaves  of  the  old 
jargonelle-pear  tree,  and  shook  his  head. 
"  Hearts  don't  come  when  Reason  whistles 
to  'em,"  he  said. 

"'Oh,  if  I  could  just  hear  him  say 
'mother'!" 

"Why  should  he  say  'mother'?  You 
haven't  been  a  mother  to  him." 

"I've  given  him  everything!" 

Doctor  Lavendar  was  silent. 

"He  ought  to  come  to  us.  He  is  ours;  and 
he  owes  us — " 

"Just  what  you've  earned,  Mary,  just 
what  you've  earned.  That's  what  children 
'owe'  their  parents." 

"  Oh,  what  am  I  to  do?   What  am  I  to  do?  " 

"How  much  do  you  want  him,  Mary?" 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

She  was  stammering  with  sobs.  "It's  all 
I  want — it's  my  life — •" 

' '  Perhaps  publicity  would  win  him.  He  has 
a  great  respect  for  courage.  So  perhaps — " 

She  cringed.  "But  that  couldn't  be!  It 
couldn't  be.  Don't  you  understand?" 

"Poor  Mary!"  said  Doctor  Lavendar. 
"Poor  girl!" 

"Doctor  Lavendar,  make  him  come  to  us. 
You  can  do  it.  You  can  do  anything!" 

"Mary,  neither  you  nor  I  nor  anybody  else 
can  '  make '  a  harvest  anything  but  the  seed 
which  has  been  sowed.  My  child,  you  sowed 
vanity  and  selfishness."  ...  By  and  by  he  put 
his  hand  on  hers  and  said:  "Mary,  wait. 
Wait  till  you  love  him  more  and  yourself  less." 

It  was  dark  when  she  went  away. 

When  Doctor  King  came  in  in  the  evening 
he  said  to  himself  that  Mary  Robertson  and 
the  whole  caboodle  of  'em  weren't  worth  the 
weariness  in  the  wise  old  face. 

"William,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar,  "I  hope 
there  won't  be  any  conundrums  in  heaven; 
I  don't  seem  able  to  answer  them  any  more." 
Then  the  whimsical  fatigue  vanished  and 
he  smiled.  "Lately  I've  just  said,  'Wait: 
God  knows.'  And  stopped  guessing." 

But  he  didn't  stop  thinking. 
104 


HEARTS  DON'T  ANSWER  WHEN  REASON   WHISTLES   TO  THEM,"   HE    SAID 


CHAPTER  VII 

AS  for  Johnny's  mother,  she  kept  on  think- 
/~\  ing,  too,  but  she  yielded,  for  the  mo 
ment,  to  the  inevitableness  of  her  harvest. 
And  of  course  the  devotion,  and  the  invita 
tions  to  Philadelphia,  and  the  summers  in 
Old  Chester  continued.  Johnny's  bored  good 
humor  accepted  them  all  patiently  enough; 
"for  she  is  kind,"  he  reminded  himself. 
"And  I  like  him"  he  used  to  tell  his  aunt 
Lydia.  Once  he  confided  his  feelings  on  this 
subject  to  William  King: 

"They  are  queer  folks,  the  Robertsons," 
Johnny  said.  "Why  do  they  vegetate  down 
here  in  Old  Chester?  They  don't  seem  to 
know  anybody  but  Aunt  Lydia." 

William  and  the  big  fellow  were  jogging 
along  in  the  doctor's  shabby  buggy  out 
toward  Miss  Lydia's;  she  was  very  frail 
that  summer  and  Johnny  had  insisted  that 
William  King  should  come  to  see  her.  "The 
Robertsons  know  you,  apparently,"  the  doc 
tor  said. 

105 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Well,  yes,"  John  said,  "and  they've  been 
nice  to  me  ever  since  I  can  remember." 

"G'on!"  Doctor  King  told  his  mare,  and 
slapped  a  rein  down  on  Jinny's  back. 

"But,  Doctor  King,  they  are  queer," 
Johnny  insisted.  "What's  the  milk  in  the 
coconut  about  'em?" 

"Maybe  a  thunderstorm  soured  it." 

Johnny  grinned,  then  he  looked  at  Jinny's 
ears,  coughed,  and  said,  "I'd  like  to  ask  you  a 
question,  sir." 

"Go  ahead." 

"When  people  are  kind  to  you — just  what 
do  you  owe  'em?  I  didn't  ask  them  to  be 
kind  to  me — I  mean  the  Robertsons — but, 
holy  Peter!"  said  Johnny,  "they've  given 
me  presents  ever  since  I  was  a  child.  They 
even  had  a  wild  idea  of  getting  me  to  take 
their  name !  I  said, '  No,  thank  you ! '  Why 
should  I  take  their  name?  .  .  .  Mrs.  Robert 
son  always  seems  sort  of  critical  of  Aunty. 
Think  of  that!  Course  she  never  says  any 
thing;  she'd  better  not!  If  she  did  I'd  raise 
Cain.  But  I  feel  it,"  Johnny  said,  frowning. 
"Well,  what  I  want  to  know  is,  what  do  you 
owe  people  who  do  you  favors?  Mind  you, 
/  don't  want  their  favors!" 

"Well,"  William  ruminated,  "I  should  say 
106 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

that  we  owe  people  who  do  us  favors,  the 
truth  of  how  we  feel  about  them.  If  the 
truth  wouldn't  be  agreeable  to  them,  don't 
accept  the  favors!" 

"Well,  the  'truth'  is  that  I  get  mad  when 
Mrs.  Robertson  looks  down  on  Aunty! 
Think  of  what  she's  stood  for  me!"  the  boy 
said,  suddenly  very  red  in  the  face.  "  When 
I  was  fifteen  one  of  the  fellows  told  me  I  was 
— was  her  son.  I  rubbed  his  nose  in  the 
mud." 

"Oh,  that  was  how  Mack  got  his  broken 
nose,  was  it?"  Doctor  King  inquired,  much 
interested.  "Well,  I'm  glad  you  did  it.  I 
guess  it  cured  him  of  being  one  kind  of  a  fool. 
There  was  a  time  when  I  wanted  to  rub  one 
or  two  female  noses  in  the  mud.  However, 
they  are  really  not  worth  thinking  of, 
Johnny." 

"No,"  John  agreed,  "but  anybody  who 
looks  cross-eyed  in  my  presence  at  Aunt 
Lydia  will  get  his  head  punched." 

"Amen,"  said  William  King,  and  drew 
Jinny  in  at  Miss  Lydia's  gate. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  William  King's 
opinion  as  to  what  we  owe  people  who  do  us 
favors  was  very  illuminating  to  Johnny.  "I 
like  'em — and  I  don't  like  'em,"  he  told  Miss 

107 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Lydia,  with  a  bothered  look.  "But  I  wish 
to  Heaven  she'd  let  up  on  presents!" 

On  the  whole  he  liked  them  more  than  he 
failed  to  like  them;  perhaps  because  they 
were,  to  a  big,  joyous,  somewhat  conceited 
youngster,  rather  pitiful  in  the  way  in  which 
they  seemed  to  hang  upon  him.  He  said 
as  much  once  to  his  aunt  Lydia;  Mrs. 
Robertson  had  asked  him  to  come  to  supper, 
but  had  not  asked  Miss  Lydia..  "I  suppose 
I've  got  to  go,"  he  said,  scowling,  "but  they 
needn't  think  I'd  rather  have  supper  with 
them  than  with  you!  I  just  go  because  I'm 
sorry  for  'em." 

"I  am,  too,  Johnny,"  she  said.  She  had 
ceased  to  be  afraid  of  them  by  this  time. 
Yet  she  might  have  been  just  a  little  afraid 
if  she  had  known  all  that  this  special  invita 
tion  involved.  .  .  . 

Mary  Robertson  no  longer  shared  her  long 
ing  for  her  son  with  her  husband.  She  had 
not  even  told  him  of  that  day  when  her 
misery  had  welled  up  and  overflowed  in 
frantic  words  to  Doctor  Lavendar.  But  she 
had  never  resigned  herself  to  reaping  what 
she  had  sowed.  She  was  still  determined, 
somehow,  to  get  possession  of  her  boy.  Oc 
casionally  she  spoke  of  this  determination  to 

1 08 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Doctor  Lavendar,  just  because  it  was  a  relief 
to  put  it  into  words;  but  he  never  gave  her 
much  encouragement.  He  could  only  coun 
sel  a  choice  of  two  things:  secrecy — and 
fortitude;  or  truth — and  doubtful  hope. 

Little  by  little  hope  gained,  and  truth 
seemed  more  possible.  And  by  and  by  a 
plan  grew  in  her  mind :  she  would  get  Doctor 
Lavendar  to  help  her  to  tell  Johnny  the 
truth,  and  then,  supported  by  religion  (as 
she  thought  of  it),  she  would  tell  her  son  that 
it  was  his  duty  to  live  with  her; — "nobody 
will  know  why!  And  he  can't  say  'no,'  if 
Doctor  Lavendar  says,  'honor  thy  father 
and  thy  mother'!"  That  Doctor  Lavendar 
would  say  this,  she  had  no  doubt  whatever, 
for  was  he  not  a  minister,  and  ministers 
always  counseled  people  to  obey  the  Com 
mandments.  "But  when  I  get  him  here, 
with  Johnny,  we  must  be  by  ourselves,"  she 
thought;  "I  won't  speak  before  her/19 

So  that  was  why  Miss  Lydia  was  not  in 
vited  to  supper  when  Johnny  was — Johnny 
and  Doctor  Lavendar!  Mary  Robertson 
was  so  tense  all  that  September  day  when 
her  two  guests  were  expected  that  her  hus 
band  noticed  it. 

"You're  not  well,  Mary?"  he  said. 
109 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Oh  yes,  yes!"  she  said — she  was  pacing 
up  and  down,  up  and  down,  like  a  caged 
creature.  "  Carl,  Doctor  Lavendar  is  coming 
this  evening." 

"My  dear,  I  think  that  is  about  the  tenth 
time  you  have  mentioned  it!  I  should  not 
call  the  old  gentleman  a  very  exciting 
guest." 

"And  Johnny  is  coming." 

"Well,  what  of  it?  I  hope  Doctor  Laven 
dar  won't  ask  him  to  say  his  catechism!" 

As  it  happened,  Johnny  came  first,  and 
his  mother  was  so  eager  to  see  him  and  touch 
him  that,  hearing  his  step,  she  ran  to  help 
him  off  with  his  coat — to  his  great  embar 
rassment;  then  she  came  into  the  library 
clinging  to  his  arm.  Father  and  son  greeted 
each  other  with,  "Hello,  youngster!"  and, 
"Hello,  sir!"  and  Johnny  added  that  it  was 
beginning  to  rain  like  blazes. 

"I  sent  the  carriage  for  Doctor  Laven 
dar,"  Mrs.  Robertson  said. 

"He  coming?"  Johnny  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "he's  very,  very  good, 
Johnny,  and" — she  paused,  then  said,  breath 
lessly,  "you  must  do  whatever  he  wants  you  to 
do." 

The  young  man  looked  faintly  interested, 
no 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"What's  she  up  to  now?"  he  asked  himself; 
then  began  to  talk  to  his  father.  But  re 
membering  his  aunt  Lydia's  parting  injunc 
tion,  "Now,  Johnny,  be  nice  to  Mrs.  Robert 
son,"  he  was  careful  to  speak  to  his  mother 
once  in  a  while.  Happening  to  catch  the 
twinkle  of  her  rings,  he  tried  to  be  especially 


"nice." 


"When  I  get  rich  I'm  going  to  buy  Aunty 
a  diamond  ring  like  yours,  Mrs.  Robertson." 

"I'll  give  you  one  of  mine,  if  you'll  wear 
it,"  she  said,  eagerly. 

Johnny's  guffaw  of  laughter  ended  in  a 
droll  look  at  his  father,  who  said: 

"My  dear  Mary!  This  cub,  and  a  diamond 
ring?" 

She  was  too  absorbed  in  loving  her  child 
to  be  hurt  by  his  bad  manners,  and,  besides, 
at  that  moment  Doctor  Lavendar  arrived, 
and  she  ran  out  into  the  hall  to  welcome  him ; 
as  she  took  his  hand  she  whispered: 

"Doctor  Lavendar,  you  will  help  me  with 
Johnny?  /  am  going  to  tell  him.  I'm  going 
to  tell  him  to-night! — and  I  depend  on  you 
to  make  him  come  to  us." 

The  old  man's  face  grew  very  grave;  he 
looked  closely  at  Mary,  standing  there, 
clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands,  but  he 

in 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

did  not  answer  her.  Later,  when  they  went 
out  to  the  dining  room,  he  was  still  silent, 
just  watching  Mary  and  listening  to  Johnny, 
— who  laughed  and  talked  (and  was  "nice" 
to  his  mother),  and  ate  enormously,  and  who 
looked,  sitting  there  at  his  grandfather's  old 
table,  as  much  like  the  new  Mr.  Smith  as 
twenty-three  can  look  like  seventy-eight. 

"Well,"  the  young  fellow  said,  friendly 
and  confidential  to  the  company  at  large, 
"what  do  you  suppose?  It's  settled — my 
'career'!" 

"I  hope  that  means  Robertson  and  Carey?" 
Mr.  Robertson  said.  He  glanced  over  at  his 
son  with  a  sort  of  aching  pride  in  his  strength 
and  carelessness.  "I've  offered  this  young 
ster  a  place  in  my  firm,"  he  explained  to 
Doctor  Lavendar,  who  said: 

"Have  you,  indeed?" 

"No,"  Johnny  said,  "it  doesn't  mean 
Carey  and  Robertson,  though  you're  mighty 
kind,  Mr.  Robertson.  But  you  see  I  can't 
leave  Old  Chester.  It  would  pull  Aunt 
Lydia  up  by  the  roots  to  go  away.  And  of 
course  I  couldn't  go  without  her." 

Mary's  plump  hand,  with  its  shining  rings, 
clenched  sharply  on  the  tablecloth;  she 
drew  in  her  breath,  but  she  said  nothing. 

112 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  Carl 
said,  not  daring  to  meet  his  wife's  eyes. 

"Aunt  Lydia  got  a  job  for  me  in  Mr. 
Dilworth's  hardware  store." 

His  mother  cried  out — then  checked  her 
self.  "  Miss  Lydia  ought  not  to  have  thought 
of  such  a  thing!"  she  tried  to  speak  quietly, 
but  she  had  to  bite  her  lip  to  keep  it  steady. 

"Mary!"  her  husband  warned  her. 

John's  face  darkened.  "Aunty  ought  al 
ways  to  do  whatever  she  does  do,"  he  said. 

"Of  course,"  his  father  agreed,  soothingly. 

"I  only  meant,"  Mary  explained,  in  a 
frightened  voice,  "that  a  hardware  store 
isn't  much  of  a  chance  for  a  man  like  you." 

"It  means  staying  in  Old  Chester  with 
Aunty,"  he  explained;  "she's  not  very  well 
now,  Mrs.  Robertson,"  he  said,  and  sighed; 
"it  would  be  too  much  for  her,  to  move. 
She's  not  equal  to  it."  His  strong,  rather 
harsh  face  softened  and  sobered.  "And  as 
for  a  hardware  store  not  being  a  chance  for 
me — I  mean  to  make  Rome  howl  with  a 
Mercer  branch!  You  see,  Aunty  bought  a 
half -interest  for  me.  The  Lord  knows  where 
she  got  the  money!  Saved  it  out  of  her  food 
all  these  years,  I  guess." 

"She  didn't,  apparently,  save  it  out  of  your 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

food,"   Doctor   Lavendar   said,    dryly;     "I 
believe  you  weigh  two  hundred,  Johnny." 

"Only  a  hundred  and  eighty-four/*  the 
young  man  assured  him. 

Mary,  listening,  was  tingling  all  over;  she 
had  planned  a  very  cautious  approach  to  the 
truth  which  was  to  give  her  son  back  to  her. 
She  meant  first  to  hint,  and  then  to  admit, 
and  then  to  declare  her  right  to  his  love.  But 
that  Miss  Lydia,  without  consulting  Johnny's 
father  and  mother,  should  have  put  him 
into  such  a  business — "my  son  in  a  hardware 
store !"  Mary  thought; — that  Miss  Lydia 
should  have  dared!  "He's  mine — he's  mine 
— he's  mine!  ...  Of  course,"  she  was  saying 
to  herself  as  they  went  back  to  the  library 
after  dinner — "of  course,  he'll  give  it  up 
the  minute  he  knows  who  he  is.  But  I  hate 
her!" 

The  room,  in  the  September  dusk,  was 
lighted  only  by  a  lamp  on  the  big  desk;  the 
windows  opening  on  the  garden  were  raised, 
for  it  was  hot  after  the  rain,  and  the  air  blew 
in,  fragrant  with  wet  leaves  and  the  scent 
of  some  late  roses.  Johnny's  father,  sinking 
down  in  a  great  leather  chair,  watched  the 
young,  vigorous  figure  standing  in  front  of 
the  mantelpiece,  smoking  and,  after  the 

114 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

fashion  of  his  years,  laying  down  the  law 
for  the  improvement  of  the  world.  Doctor 
Lavendar  did  not  look  at  Johnny,  but  at  his 
mother,  who  stood  clutching  the  corner  of 
the  big  desk — that  desk  at  which,  one  Sep 
tember  night  twenty-three  years  ago,  John 
ny's  grandfather  had  been  sitting  when  Miss 
Lydia  came  into  the  library.  .  .  . 

"Mary,  my  dear,  aren't  you  going  to  sit 
down?"  said  Doctor  Lavendar. 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  "Look 
here,"  she  said,  harshly;  "I  can't  stand  it — 
I  won't  stand  it — " 

Carl  sprang  up  and  laid  his  hand  on  her 
arm.  "Mary!"  he  said,  under  his  breath. 
"Please"  he  besought  her;  "for  God's  sake 
don't— don't—  " 

"Johnny,  you  belong  to  me,"  Mary  said. 

John  Smith,  his  cigar  halfway  to  his  lips, 
paused,  bewildered  and  alarmed.  "Isn't  she 
well?"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice  to  Doctor 
Lavendar. 

"I'm  perfectly  well.  But  I'm  going  to 
speak.  Doctor  Lavendar  will  tell  you  I  have 
a  right  to  speak!  Tell  him  so,  Doctor 
Lavendar." 

"She  has  the  right  to  speak,"  the  old  man 
said. 

"5 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"You  hear  that?"  said  the  mother.  "He 
says  I  have  a  right  to  you!" 

"I  didn't  say  that/'  said  Doctor  Lavendar. 

"Mary,"  her  husband  protested,  "Twill 
not  allow" — but  she  did  not  hear  him: 

"Miss  Lydia  sha'n't  have  you  any  longer. 
You  are  mine,  Johnny — mine.  I  want  you, 
and  I'm  going  to  have  you!" 

John  Smith's  face  went  white;  he  put  his 
cigar  down  on  the  mantelpiece,  went  across 
the  long  room,  closed  the  door  into  the  hall, 
then  came  back  and  looked  at  his  mother. 
No  one  spoke.  Doctor  Lavendar  had  bent  his 
head  and  shut  his  eyes;  he  would  not  watch 
the  three  struggling  souls  before  him.  Johnny 
slowly  turned  his  eyes  toward  Mr.  Robertson. 

"And  you—  ?" 

"Yes,"  his  father  said.  "John,  you'll 
make  the  best  of  us,  won't  you?" 

Silence  tingled  between  them. 

Then,  unsteadily,  and  looking  always  at 
his  father,  John  began  to  speak.  "Of  course 
it  makes  no  difference  to  me.  Aunt  Lydia 
and  I  have  our  own  life.  But — I'm  sorry, 
sir."  He  put  his  shaking  hands  into  his 
pockets.  "You  and  Mrs.  Robertson — " 

"Oh,  say  'mother'!  Say  'mother'!"  she 
cried  out. 

116 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

" — have  been  very  kind  to  me,  always," 
— he  paused,  in  a  sudden,  realizing  adjust 
ment:  their  "kindness,"  then,  had  not  been 
the  flattery  he  had  supposed?  It  was  just — 
love?  "Awfully  kind,"  he  said,  huskily. 
"Once  I  did  wonder  .  .  .  then  I  thought  it 
couldn't  be,  because — because,  you  see,  I've 
always  liked  you,  sir,"  he  ended,  awkwardly. 

Carl  Robertson  was  dumb. 

"I've  told  you,"  his  mother  said,  trembling 
— her  fingers,  catching  at  the  sheet  of  blot 
ting  paper  on  the  desk,  tore  off  a  scrap  of  it, 
rolled  it,  twisted  it,  then  pulled  off  another 
scrap — -"I've  told  you,  because  you  are  to 
come  to  us.  You  are  to  take  our  name — 
your  name."  She  paused,  swallowing  hard, 
and  struggling  to  keep  the  tears  back.  "You 
are  ours,  not  hers.  People  thought  you  were 
hers,  and  it  just  about  killed  me." 

Instantly  the  blood  rushed  into  John 
Smith's  face;  his  eyes  blazed.  "What!"  he 
stammered;  "what!  You  knew  that?"  .  .  . 
His  upper  lip  slowly  lifted,  and  Doctor 
Lavendar  saw  his  set  teeth.  "You  knew 
that  some  damned  fools  thought  that,  of  my 
aunt  Lydia?  Are  you  my  mother,  and  yet 
you  could  allow  another  woman —  My 
God!"  he  said,  softly. 

117 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

She  did  not  realize  what  she  had  done; 
she  began  to  reassure  him  frantically. 

"No  one  shall  ever  know!  No  one  will 
ever  guess — " 

Doctor  Lavendar  shook  his  head.  "Mary," 
he  warned  her,  "we  must  be  known,  even 
as  also  we  know,  before  we  enter  the  King 
dom  of  Heaven." 

They  did  not  listen  to  him. 

"You  mean,"  John  said,  "that  you  won't 
let  it  be  known  that  you  are — my  mother?  " 

' '  No,  never !  never !  It  couldn't  be  known 
— I  promise  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  John  Smith,  sardoni 
cally, — and  Doctor  Lavendar  held  up  protest 
ing  hands.  But  no  one  looked  at  him. 

"It  would  only  be  supposed,"  Carl  said, 
"that,  being  childless  people,  we  would 
make  you  our  son.  Nothing,  as  your  mother 
says,  would  need  be  known." 

"How  could  you  'make  me  your  son'  and 
not  have  it  known?" 

"I  mean  by  law,"  his  father  explained. 

"There  was  a  'law*  that  made  me  your 
son  twenty-three  years  ago.  That's  the  only 
law  that  counts.  You  broke  it  when  I  was 
born.  Can  I  be  born  again?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar. 

118 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"You  deserted  me,"  Johnny  said,  "and 
Aunt  Lydia  took  me.  Shall  I  be  like  you, 
and  desert  her?  Little  Aunt  Lydia !"  He  gave 
a  furious  sob.  " I'm  not  your  sort!"  he  said. 
The  words  were  like  a  blow  in  Mary's  face. 

"  Doctor  Lavendar,  tell  him — tell  him, 
'  honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother ' ! " 

"'Honor'?"  her  son  said.  "Did  I  under 
stand  you  to  use  the  word  'honor1?1' 

Again  Doctor  Lavendar  raised  an  admon 
ishing  hand.  "Careful,  John." 

"He  means,"  Carl  said  to  his  wife,  quietly, 
though  his  face  was  gray — "he  means  he 
wants  us  to  acknowledge  him.  Mary,  I'm 
willing.  Are  you?" 

Doctor  Lavendar  lifted  his  bowed  head, 
and  his  old  eyes  were  suddenly  eager  with 
hope.  Johnny's  mother  stood  looking  at  her 
child,  her  face  twisted  with  tears. 

11  Must  I,  to  get  him?  "  she  gasped. 

"No,"  Johnny  said;  "it  is  quite  unneces 
sary."  He  smiled,  so  cruelly  that  his  father's 
hands  clenched;  but  Mary  only  said,  in  pas 
sionate  relief,  "  Oh,  you  are  good ! "  And  the 
hope  in  Doctor  Lavendar's  eyes  flickered  out. 

"Nothing  will  ever  be  known?"  her  son 
repeated,  still  smiling.     "Well,  then,   Mrs. 
Robertson,  I  thank  you  for  'nothing.'" 
9  119 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

Doctor  Lavendar  frowned,  and  Mary  re 
coiled,  with  a  sort  of  moan.  Carl  Robertson 
cried  out: 

"Stop!  You  shall  not  speak  so  to  your 
mother!  I'm  ashamed  of  you,  sir!" 

But  the  mother  ran  forward  and  caught 
at  her  son's  arm.  "Oh,  but  I  will  make  it 
known!  I  will  say  who  you  are!  I'll  say 
you  are  mine!  I  will — I  will — " 

"You  can't,  for  I'm  not,"  he  said. 

She  was  clinging  to  him,  but  he  looked  over 
her  head,  eye  to  eye  with  his  father.  "How 
can  I  be  her  son,  when  she  let  people  here  in 
Old  Chester  believe  that  Aunt  Lydia — " 

"Johnny,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar,  "it 
didn't  make  the  slightest  difference  to  Miss 
Lydia." 

The  young  man  turned  upon  him.  "Doc 
tor  Lavendar,  these  two  people  didn't  own 
me,  even  when  a  pack  of  fools  believed — " 
He  choked  over  what  the  fools  believed. 
"They  let  them  think  that  of  Aunt  Lydia! 
As  for  this — this  lady  being  my  'mother' — 
What's  'mother'  but  a  word?  Aunt  Lydia 
may  not  be  my  mother,  but  I  am  her  son. 
Yes — yes — I  am." 

"You  are,"  Doctor  Lavendar  agreed. 

John   turned  and   looked   at   his   father. 

I2O 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"I'm  sorry  for  him"  he  said  to  Doctor 
Lavendar. 

"We  will  acknowledge  you  to-morrow, " 
Carl  Robertson  said. 

"I  won't  acknowledge  you,"  his  son  flung 
back  at  him.  "All  these  years  you  have 
hidden  behind  Aunty.  Stay  hidden.  I  won't 
betray  you." 

Mary  had  dropped  down  into  her  father's 
chair;  her  face  was  covered  by  her  hands 
on  the  desk.  They  heard  her  sob.  Her  hus 
band  bent  over  her  and  put  his  arms  about 
her. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  "forgive 
me;  I  brought  it  on  you — my  poor  Mary!" 
Then  he  stood  up  and  looked  at  his  son  in 
suffering  silence.  "I  don't  blame  you,"  he 
said,  simply. 

At  that,  suddenly,  John  Smith  broke.  The 
pain  of  it  all  had  begun  to  penetrate  his 
passionate  loyalty.  For  a  moment  there  was 
silence,  except  for  Mary's  sobs.  Then  John 
ny  said,  hoarsely,  "Mr.  Robertson,  I'm — 
sorry.  But  .  .  .  there  isn't  anything  to  do 
about  it.  I — I  guess  I'll  go  home." 

"John,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar,  "your  aunt 
Lydia  would  want  you  to  be  kind." 

Carl   Robertson   shook   his   head.     "We 

121 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

don't  want  kindness,  Doctor  Lavendar.  I 
guess  we  don't  want  anything  he  can  give. 
Good-by,  boy,"  he  said. 

His  son,  passing  him,  caught  at  his  hand 
and  wrung  it.  "Goo'-by,"  he  said,  roughly. 
There  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 

Then,  without  a  look  at  his  mother,  he 
walked  quickly  down  the  room,  and  out  into 
the  hall.  They  could  hear  him  putting  on 
his  hat  and  coat.  .  .  .  Carl  Robertson  pressed 
his  clenched  hand  against  his  lips,  and 
turned  his  back  to  the  other  two.  Mary 
was  silent.  Doctor  Lavendar  covered  his 
eyes  for  a  moment;  then,  just  as  Johnny's 
hand  was  on  the  knob  of  the  front  door  he 
called  out: 

"  John,  wait  a  minute,  will  you?  Give  me 
an  arm;  I'm  going  to  walk  home." 

The  young  man,  out  in  the  hall,  frowned, 
and  set  his  jaw. 

"All  right,"  he  called  back,  briefly.  There 
was  no  detaining  word  or  cry  from  the  library 
while  Doctor  Lavendar  shuffled  silently  into 
his  coat, — and  a  minute  later  the  door  of  the 
new  Mr.  Smith's  house  closed  upon  his 
grandson  and  the  old  minister. 

It  had  begun  to  rain  again,  and  the  drive 
way  was  very  dark — darker  even  than  on  that 

122 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

September  night  when  Johnny's  mother  had 
cringed  back  from  Miss  Lydia's  little  leading 
hand  and  they  had  hurried  along  under  the 
big  trees.  It  was  her  son  who  hurried  now. . . . 

"Not  so  fast,  Johnny/'  said  Doctor 
Lavendar. 

"Excuse  me,  sir."  He  fell  into  step  with 
the  old  man,  but  he  was  tense  with  the  effort 
to  walk  slowly.  .  .  .  They  were  nearly  at 
the  gate  before  there  was  any  speech  between 
them.  Then  Johnny  said,  violently: 

"There's  no  use  saying  anything  to  me, 
Doctor  Lavendar!  Not  a  particle  of  use!" 

"I  haven't  said  anything,  John." 

"They  got  you  here  to — to  influence  me! 
I  saw  through  it  the  minute — she  began. 
But  I  never  forgive,"  Johnny  said;  "I  want 
you  to  understand  that!"  He  was  hurrying 
again.  The  old  man  pressed  a  little  on  his 
arm. 

"I'm  sorry  to  be  so  slow,  Johnny." 

"Oh — excuse  me,  sir;  I  didn't  realize. 
.  .  .  She  threw  me  away.  I've  thrown  her 
away.  There's  no  use  talking  to  me!" 

Doctor  Lavendar  was  silent. 

"I  tell  you,  I  won't  have  anything  to  do 
with  them — with  her,  I  mean.  He's  not  so 
bad.  I — I  like  him — in  spite  of — of  every- 

123 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

thing.     But  she  deserted  me  when  I  was 
born." 

"It  is  certainly  cruel  to  desert  a  newborn 
thing,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar. 

John  Smith  agreed,  furiously — and  his  up 
per  lip  lifted. 

"I  think,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar,  "some 
thing  has  been  born  to-night — "  He  was 
very  much  out  of  breath. 

"I'm  walking  too  fast  again?  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir,"  the  boy  said. 

"Suppose  we  stand  still  for  a  minute,"  said 
Doctor  Lavendar. 

They  stood  still;  the  rain  fell  heavily  on 
Doctor  Lavendar's  shoulders  and  dripped 
from  the  brim  of  his  old  felt  hat.  "She  de 
serted  me,"  John  said.  "There  is  nothing 
to  be  said  in  excuse.  Nothing." 

"No,  desertion  can  never  be  excused,"  the 
old  man  agreed;  "and,  as  you  say,  when 
your  body  was  born,  she  left  it.  To-night 
her  soul  has  been  born.  Do  you  mean  to 
desert  it,  John?  " 

"Even  a  dog  doesn't  leave  her  pups!" 
John  said. 

("His  grandfather  over  again!"  Doctor 
Lavendar  thought.)  Yet  it  was  to  that  in 
herited  brutality  that  he  made  his  appeal: 

124 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

"No;  a  mother  has  to  be  higher  than  an 
animal,  to  desert  her  young,"  Doctor  Lav- 
endar  said. 

The  young  man  s  violent  agreement  broke 
off  in  the  middle: — "What  do  you  mean  by 
that?" 

" Shame  is  a  strange  thing,"  said  Doctor 
Lavendar;  "it  can  lift  us  up  to  heaven  or 
push  us  down  to  hell;  it  gives  us  courage  or 
it  makes  us  cowards.  An  animal  doesn't 
know  shame." 

"You  mean  that — that  woman — ?  " 

"I  mean  your  mother  was  ashamed, 
John — "  The  young  man  was  silent.  "She 
tried  to  get  away  from  shame  by  getting 
away  from  you.  Now  she  knows  that  only 
by  staying  with  you  could  she  really  get 
away  from  it." 

"I  will  never  call  her  'mother'!"  Johnny 
burst  out. 

"Miss  Lydia  didn't  stop  to  consider  what 
she  was  going  to  call  you;  she  just  took  care 
of  you.  Yet  you  weren't  as  helpless  as  that 
poor  woman  back  there  in  that  empty  house. 
Johnny,  her  little  weak  soul,  just  born  to 
night,  will  die  unless  you  take  care  of  it." 

The  young  man  stood  still,  his  hands 
clenched.  Doctor  Lavendar  took  off  his 

125 


AN  OLD  CHESTER  SECRET 

soaking  wet  hat,  shook  it,  put  it  on  again,  and 
waited.  There  was  only  the  sound  of  the 
rain  and  the  drip-drip  from  the  big  trees 
along  the  driveway.  Then  the  boy  said: 

"You  said  desertion  could  not  be  excused. 
I  am  ashamed  to  be  known  as  belonging  to 
her!" 

"  That's  just  how  she  felt  about  you — so 
she  deserted  you.1' 

Silence,  except  for  John  Smith's  panting 
breath.  Down  the  road,  through  the  lilac 
bushes,  came  the  twinkle  of  a  lamp  in  Miss 
Lydia's  window. 

11  John,"  said  Doctor  Lavendar,  "go  to  your 
mother.  If  you  don't,  you  will  be  doing  just 
what  she  did.  Be  kind  to  her  helpless  soul,  as 
Miss  Lydia  was  kind  to  your  helpless  body." 

Still  silence.  Then  suddenly  Mary's  son 
flung  Doctor  Lavendar's  hand  from  his  arm, 
and  turned  back,  almost  running,  to  vanish 
in  the  shadows  of  his  grandfather's  driveway. 
But  as  he  ran,  he  threw  over  his  shoulder 
some  broken,  passionate  words  that  sounded 
like — "I  won't  be  like  her — " 

Doctor  Lavendar  stood  still  for  a  minute; 
then  he  drew  a  great  breath  of  relief  and 
plodded  on  slowly  into  the  rainy  darkness. 

THE   END 


UNIVEESITY  OF  CALIFOENIA  LIBEAEY, 
BERKELEY 

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eree 


?UL 


JUN 


JUN15 


nov  30 

30Aug'S6cB 
REC'D  LD 
11956 


20m-ll,'20 


